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V 






HIRAM 

THE YOUNG FARMER 


BACK TO THE SOIL SERIES 

By BURBANK L. TODD 

12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume, 
fl.OO, net 

HIRAM THE YOUNG FARMER 
Or, Making the Soil Pay 
HIRAM IN THE MIDDLE WEST 

Or, A Young Farmer’s Upward Struggle 
(Other volumes in preparation) 


SULLY AND KLEINTEICH, NEW YORK 



HIRAM THE YOUNG 
FARMER 


OR 

MAKING THE SOIL PAY 

BY 

BURBANK L. TODD 


ILLUSTRATED 



NEW YORK 

SULLY AND KLEINTEICH 




KJU 


Copyright, 1914, by 
SULLY AND KLEINTEICH 


MAR 26 1914 



@''CI,A369452 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Call of Spring .... 2 

II. At Mrs. Atterson’s .... 12 

III. A Dreary Day 18 

IV. The Lost Card 24 

V. The Commotion at Mother Atter- 
son’s 30 

VI. This Didn’t Get by Hiram . . 37 

VII. How Hiram Left Town ... 47 
VIII. The Lure of Green Fields . .55 

IX. The Bargain is Made ... 63 
X. The Sound of Beating Hoofs . 73 

XI. A Girl Rides Into the Tale . . 84 

XII. Something About a Pasture Fence 94 

XIII. The Uprooting loi 

XIV. Getting in the Early Crops . .114 

XV. Trouble Brews 128 

XVI. One Saturday Afternoon . . 144 

XVII. Mr. Pepper Appears . . . .153 

XVIII. A Heavy Cloud 163 

XIX. The Reason Why . . . .171 

XX. An Enemy in the Dark . . . 183 


V 


VI 


Contents 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXL The Welcome Tempest . . 194 

XXII. First Fruits 202 

XXIII. Tomatoes and Trouble . . 208 

XXIV. “Corn That’s Corn” . . . 215 

XXV. The Barbecue 224 

XXVI. Sister’s Turkeys .... 232 

XXVII. Run to Earth 237 

XXVIII. Harvest 246 

XXIX. Lettie Bronson’s Corn Husking 251 

XXX. One Snowy Midnight . . . 260 

XXXL “ Mr. Damocles’s Sword ” . . 266 

XXXII. The Cloud is Lifted . . .271 

XXXIII. “Celery Mad” . . . . 278 

XXXIV. Cleaning up a Profit . . . 287 

XXXV. Looking Ahead . ... 300 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Hiram Strong clung to the plow handles. 

Frontispiece 


PAGE 

And he was lucky enough to seize the nigh horse by the 
bridle. - - - 22 


Hiram leaped upon him, seized the shot gun and wrenched 

it from his hands. - - 140 ^ 

"Why should he be so eager to get the farm now?” 
asked Hiram. - - 180 


Hiram Strong was not likely to forget that long and 

arduous night. - - 266 ^ 

But the girl stopped him and shook hands. 300 



X 


HIRAM THE YOUNG FARMER 


CHAPTER I 

THE CALL OF SPRING 

Well, after all, the country isn’t such a bad 
place as some city folk think.” 

The young fellow who said this stood upon the 
highest point of the Ridge Road, where the land 
sloped abruptly to the valley in which lay the small 
municipality of Crawberry on the one hand, while 
on the other open fields and patches of woodland, 
in a huge green-and-brown checkerboard pattern, 
fell more easily to the bank of the distant river. 

Dotted here and there about the farming country 
lying before the youth as he looked westward were 
cottages, or the more irdportant-looking homesteads 
on the larger farms; and in the distance a white 
church spire behind the trees marked the tiny settle- 
ment of Blaine’s Smithy. 

A Sabbath calm lay over the fields and woods. 
It was mid-afternoon of an early February Sun- 

3 


4 Hiram the Young Farmer 

day — ^the time of the mid-winter thaw, that false 
prophet of the real springtime. 

Although not a furrow had been turned as yet 
in the fields, and the snow lay deep in some fence 
corners and beneath the hedges, there was, after 
all, a smell of fresh earth — a clean, live smell — 
that Hiram Strong had missed all week down in 
Crawberry. 

“ Fm glad I came up here,” he muttered, draw- 
ing in great breaths of the clean air. ‘‘Just to 
look at the open fields, without any brick and mortar 
around, makes a fellow feel fine!” 

He stretched his arms above his head and, stand- 
ing alone there on the upland, felt bigger and better 
than he had in weeks. 

For Hiram Strong was a country boy, born and 
bred, and the town stifled him. Besides, he had 
begun to see that his two years in Crawberry had 
been wasted. 

“ As a hustler after fortune in the city I am 
not a howling success,” mused Hiram. “ Some- 
how, Fm cramped down yonder,” and he glanced 
back at the squalid brick houses below him, the 
smoky roofs, and the ugly factory chimneys. 

“ And I declare,” he pursued, reflectively, “ I 
don’t believe I can stand Old Dan Dwight much 
longer. Dan, Junior, is bad enough — when he is 
around the store ; but the boss would drive a fellow 
to death.” 


5 


The Call of Spring 

He shcK)k his head, now turning ifrom the pleas- 
anter prospect of the farming land and staring down 
into the town. 

‘‘ Maybe Fm not a success because I don’t stick 
to one thing. I’ve had six jobs in less’n two years. 
That’s a bad record for a boy, I believe. But 
there hasn’t any of them suited me, nor have I 
suited them. 

“ And Dwight’s Emporium beats ’em all ! ” fin- 
ished Hiram, shaking his head. 

He turned his back upon the town once more, 
as though to wipe his failure out of his memory. 
Before him sloped a field of wheat and clover. 

It had kept as green under the snow as though 
winter was an unknown season. Every clover- 
leaf sparkled and the leaves of wheat bristled like 
tiny spears. 

Spring was on the way. He could hear the call 
of it! 

Two years before Hiram had left the farm. He 
had no immediate relatives after his father died. 
The latter had been a tenant-farmer only, and when 
his tools and stock and the few household chattels 
had been sold to pay the debts that had accumulated 
during his last illness, there was very little money 
left for Hiram. 

There was nobody to say him nay when he packed 
his bag and started for Crawberry, which was the 
metropolis of his part of the country. He had 


6 Hiram the Young Farmer 

set out boldly, believing that he could get ahead 
faster, and become master of his own fortune more 
quickly in town than in the locality where he was 
born. 

He was a rugged, well-set-up youth of seventeen, 
not over-tall, but sturdy and able to do a man’s 
work. Indeed, he had long done a man’s work 
before he left the farm. 

Hiram’s hands were calloused, he shuffled a bit 
when walked, and his shoulders were just a little 
bowed from holding the plow handles since he 
had been big enough to bridle his father’s old mare. 

Yes, the work on the farm had been hard — 
especially for a growing boy. Many farm boys 
work under better conditions than Hiram had. 

Nevertheless, after a two years’ trial of what 
the city has in store for most country boys who 
cut loose from their old environment, Hiram Strong 
felt to-day as though he must get back to the land. 

‘‘ There’s nothing for me in town. Clerking in 
Dwight’s Emporium will never get me anywhere,” 
he thought, turning finally away from the open 
country and starting down the steep hill. 

‘‘ Why, there are college boys working on our 
street cars here — waiting for some better job to 
turn up. What chance does a fellow stand who’s 
only got a country school education? 

‘‘And there isn’t any clean fun for a fellow in 
Crawberry — fun that doesn’t cost money. And 


7 


The Call of Spring 

goodness knows I can’t make more than enough 
to pay Mrs. Atterson, and for my laundry, and buy 
a new suit of overalls and a pair of shoes occasion- 
ally. 

‘‘ No, sir! ” concluded Hiram. ‘‘ There’s nothing 
in it. Not for a fellow like me, at any rate. I’d 
better be back on the farm — and I wish I was there 
now.” 

He had been to church that morning; but after 
the late dinner at his boarding house had set out 
on this lonely walk. Now he had nothing to look 
forward to as he returned but the stuffy parlor of 
Mrs. Atter son’s boarding house, the cold supper 
in the dining-room, which was attended in a de- 
sultory fashion by such of the boarders as were 
at home, and then a long, dull evening in his room, 
or bed after attending the evening service at the 
church around the corner. 

Hiram even shrank from meeting the same faces 
at the boarding house table, hearing the same stale 
jokes or caustic remarks about Mrs. Atterson’s food 
from Fred Crackit and the young men boarders 
of his class, or the grumbling of Mr. Peebles, the 
dyspeptic invalid, or the inane monologue of Old 
Lem Camp. 

And Mrs. Atterson herself — good soul though 
she was — had gotten on Hiram Strong’s nerves, 
too. With her heat-blistered face, near-sighted eyes 
peering through beclouded spectacles, and her gown 


8 Hiram the Young Farmer 

buttoned up hurriedly and with a gap here and 
there where a button was missing, she was the 
typically frowsy, hurried, nagged-to-death boarding 
house mistress. 

And as for “ Sister,” Mrs. Atterson’s little slavey 
and maid-of-all-work 

“ Well, Sister’s the limit 1 ” smiled Hiram, as 
he turned into the street, with its rows of ugly 
brick houses on either hand. I believe Fred 
Crackit has got it right. Mrs. Atterson keeps Sister 
instead of a cat — so there’ll be something to kick.” 

The half-grown girl — narrow-chested, round 
shouldered, and sallow — had been taken by Mrs. 
Atterson from some charity institution. ‘V Sister,” 
as the boarders all called her, for lack of any other 
cognomen, would have her yellow hair in four 
attenuated pigtails hanging down her back, and 
she would shuffle about the dining-room in a pair 
of Mrs. Atterson’s old shoes 

“By Jove! there she is now,” exclaimed the 
startled youth. 

At the corner of the street several “ slices ” of 
the brick block had been torn away and the lot 
cleared for the erection of some business building. 
Running across this open space with wild shrieks, 
and spilling the milk from the big pitcher she car- 
ried — milk for the boarders’ tea. Hi knew — came 
Mrs. Atterson’s maid. 

Behind her, and driving her like a horse by the 


9 


The Call of Spring 

ever present pigtails,” bounded a boy of about 
her own age — a laughing, yelling imp of a boy whom 
Hiram knew very well. 

That Dan Dwight is the meanest little scamp 
at this end of the town ! ” he said to himself. 

The noise the two made attracted only the idle 
curiosity of a few people. It was a locality where, 
even on Sundays, there was more or less noise. 

Sister begged and screamed. She feared she 
would spill the milk and told Dan, Junior, so. 
But he only drove her the harder, yelling to her 
to Get up ! ” and yanking as hard as he could on 
the braids. 

‘‘Here! that’s enough of that!” called Hiram, 
stepping quickly toward the two. 

For Sister had stopped exhausted, and in tears. 

“Be off with you!” commanded Hiram. 
“ You’ve plagued the girl enough.” 

“ Mind your business, Hi-ram-Lo-ram ! ” returned 
Dan, Junior, grabbing at Sister’s hair again. 

Hiram caught the younger boy by the shoulder 
and whirled him around. 

“ You run along to Mrs. Atterson, Sister,” he 
said, quietly. “ No, you don’t! ” he added, gripping 
Dan, Junior, more firmly. “ You’ll stop right here.” 

“ Lemme be. Hi Strong! ” bawled the other, when 
he found he could not easily jerk away. “ It’ll be 
the worse for you if you don’t.” 

“ Just you wait until the girl is home,” returned 


lo Hiram the Young Farmer 

Hiram, laughing. It was an easy matter for him to 
hold the writhing Dan, Junior. 

“ I’ll fix you for this ! ” squalled the boy. “ Wait 
till I tell my father.” 

‘‘ You wouldn’t dare tell your father the truth,” 
laughed Hi. 

‘‘ I’ll fix you,” repeated Dan, Junior, and sud- 
denly aimed a vicious kick at his captor. 

Had the kick landed where Dan, Junior, in- 
tended — under Hi’s kneecap — the latter certainly 
would have been fixed.” But the country youth 
was too agile for him. 

He jumped aside, dragged Dan, Junior, suddenly 
toward him, and then gave him a backward thrust 
which sent the lighter boy spinning. 

Now, it had rained the day before and in a hollow 
beside the path was a puddle several inches deep. 
Dan, Junior, lost his balance, staggered back, tripped 
over his own clumsy heels, and splashed full length 
into it. 

Oh, oh ! ” he bawled, managing to get well 
soaked before he scrambled out. I’ll tell my 
father on you, Hi Strong. You’ll catch it for this ! ” 
You’d better run home before you catch cold,” 
said Hiram, who could not help laughing at the 
young rascal’s plight. And let girls alone another 
time.” 

To himself he said : “ Well, the goodness knows 
I couldn’t be much more in bad odor with Mr. 


II 


The Call of Spring 

Dwight than I am already. But this escapade of his 
precious son ought to about ^ fix ’ me, as Dan, 
Junior, says. 

Whether I want to, or not, I reckon I will 
be looking for another job in a very few days.” 


CHAPTER II 


AT MRS. ATTERSON’s 

When you came into ‘‘ Mother ’’ Atterson’s front 
hall (the young men boarders gave her that ap- 
pellation in irony) the ghosts of many ancient 
boiled dinners met you with — if you were sensi- 
tive and unused to the odors of cheap boarding 
houses — a certain shock. 

He was starting up the stairs, on which the 
ragged carpet threatened to send less agile persons 
than Mrs. Atterson’s boarders headlong to the 
bottom at every downward trip, when the clang of 
the gong in the dining-room announced the usual 
cold spread which the landlady thought due to her 
household on the first day of the week. 

Hiram hesitated, decided that he would skip 
the meal, and started up again. But just then Fred 
Crackit lounged out of the parlor, with Mr. Peebles 
following him. Dyspeptic as he was, Mr. Peebles 
never missed a meal himself, and Crackit said : 

“Come on, Hi-Low-Jack! Aren’t you coming 
down to the usual feast of reason and flow of 
soul?” 


12 


At Mrs. Atterson’s 


^3 

Crackit thought he was a natural humorist, and 
he had to keep up his reputation at all times and 
seasons. He was rather a dissipated-looking man 
of thirty years or so, given to gay waistcoats and 
wonderfully knit ties. A brilliant as large as a 
hazel-nut — and which, in some lights, really sparkled 
like a diamond — adorned the tie he wore this even- 
ing. 

I don’t believe I want any supper,” responded 
Hiram, pleasantly. 

‘‘What’s the matter? Got some inside informa- 
tion as to what Mother Atterson has laid out for us? 
You’re pretty thick with the old girl. Hi.” 

“ That’s not a nice way to speak of her, Mr. 
Crackit,” said Hi, in a low voice. 

The other boarders — those who were in the house 
— straggled into the basement dining-room one after 
the other, and took their places at the long table, 
each in his customary manner. 

That dining-room at Mother Atterson’s never 
could have been a cheerful place. It was long, and 
low-ceiled, and the paper on the walls was a dingy 
red, so old that the figure on it had retired into the 
background — been absorbed by it, so to speak. 

The two long, dusty windows looked upon an 
area, and were grilled half way up by wrought-iron 
screens which, too, helped to shut out the light of 
day. 

The long table was covered by a red figured 


? 


14 Hiram the Young Farmer 

table cloth. The “ castors ” at both ends and in the 
middle were the ugliest — Hiram was sure — to be 
found in all the city of Crawberry. The crockery 
was of the coarsest kind. The knives and forks 
were antediluvian. The napkins were as coarse as 
buck towels. 

But Mrs. Atterson’s food — considering the cost 
of provisions and the charge she made for her table 
— was very good. Only it had become a habit for 
certain of the boarders, led by the jester, Crackit, to 
criticise the viands. 

Sometimes they succeeded in making Mrs. At- 
terson angry; and sometimes, Hiram knew, she 
wept, alone in the dining-room, after the harum- 
scarum, thoughtless crowd had gone. 

Old Lem Camp — nobody save Hiram thought to 
put Mr.’’ before the old gentleman’s name — sidled 
in and sat down beside the country boy, as usual. 
He was a queer, colorless sort of person — a man 
who never looked into the face of another if he 
could help it. He would look all around Hiram 
when he spoke to him — at his shoulder, his shirt- 
front, his hands, even at his feet if they were visi- 
bk; but never at his face. 

And at the table he kept up a continual mono- 
logue. It was difficult sometimes for Hiram to 
know when he was being addressed, and when poor 
Mr. Camp was merely talking to himself. 

Let’s see — where has Sister put my napkin — 


At Mrs. Atterson’s 


IS 


Oh! here it is — You’ve been for a walk, have you, 
young man? — No, that’s not my napkin; I didn’t 
spill any gravy at dinner — Nice day out, but raw — 
Goodness me! can’t I have a knife and fork? — 
Where’s my knife and fork? — Sister certainly has 
forgotten my knife and fork. — Oh! Here they are 
— Yes, a very nice day indeed for this time of year.” 

And so on. It was quite immaterial to Mr. 
Camp whether he got an answer to his remarks to 
Hiram, or not. H.e went on muttering to himself, 
all through the meal, sometimes commenting upon 
what the others said at the table — and that quite 
shrewdly, Hiram noticed; but the other boarders 
considered him a little cracked. 

Sister smiled sheepishly at Hiram as she passed 
the tea. She drowned his tea with milk and put in 
no less than four spoonfuls of sugar. But although 
the fluid was utterly spoiled for Hiram’s taste he 
drank it with fortitude, knowing that the girl’s 
generosity was the child of her gratitude ; for both 
sugar and milk were articles very scantily supplied 
at Mother Atterson’s table. 

The mistress herself did not appear. Now that 
he was down here in the dining-room, Hiram lin- 
gered. He hated the thought of going up to his 
lonely and narrow quarters at the top of the house. 

The other boarders trailed out of the room and up 
stairs, one after another. Old Lem Camp being the 
last to go. Sister brought in a dish of hot toast be- 


i6 Hiram the Young Farmer 

tween two plates and set it at the upper end of the 
table. Then Mrs. Atterson appeared. 

Hiram knew at once that something had gone 
wrong with the boarding house mistress. She had 
been crying, and when a woman of the age of Mrs. 
Atterson indulges in tears, her personal appearance 
is never improved. 

“ Oh, that you. Hi? ’’ she drawled, with a snuffle. 
“ Did you get enough to eat? 

‘‘ Yes, Mrs. Atterson,” returned the youth, start- 
ing to get up. “ I have had plenty.” 

Fm glad you did,” said the lady. And you’re 
easy ’side of most of ’em, Hiram. You’re a real 
good boy.’' 

“ I reckon I get all I pay for, Mrs. Atterson,” 
said her youngest boarder. 

“ Well, there ain’t many of ’em would say that. 
And they was awful provokin’ this noon. That 
roast of veal was just as good meat as I could find 
in market ; and I don’t know what any sensible party 
would want better than that prune pie. 

‘‘ Well! I hope I won’t have to keep a boarding 
house all my life. It’s a thankless task. An’ it 
ties a body down so. 

Here’s my uncle — my poor mother’s only 
brother and about the only relative I’ve got in the 
world — here’s Uncle Jeptha down with the grip, or 
suthin’, and goodness knows if he’ll ever get over it. 
And I can’t leave to go and see hirn die peaceable.” 


At Mrs. Atterson’s 


17 


Does he live far from here? asked Hiram, po- 
litely, although he had no particular reason for be- 
ing interested in Uncle Jeptha. 

He lives on a farm out Scoville way. He’s 
lived there most all his life. He used to make a 
right good living off’n that farm, too; but it’s run 
down some now. 

“ The last time I was out there, two years ago, he 
was just keepin’ along and that’s all. And now I 
expect he’s dying, without a chick or child of his 
own by him,” and she burst out crying again, the 
tears sprinkling the square of toast into which she 
continued to bite. 

Of course, it was ridiculous. A middle-aged 
woman weeping and eating toast and drinking 
strong boiled tea is not a romantic picture. But as 
Hiram climbed to his room he wished with all his 
heart that he could help Mrs. Atterson. 

He wasn’t the only person in the world who 
seemed to have got into a wrong environment — lots 
of people didn’t fit right into their circumstances in 
life. 

“ We’re square pegs in round holes — that’s what 
we are,” mused Hiram. That’s what / am. I 
wish I was out of it. I wish I was back on the 
farm.” 


CHAPTER III 


A DREARY DAY 

Daniel Dwight’s Emporium, the general store 
was called, and it was in a very populous part of the 
town of Cra wherry. Old Daniel was a driver, he 
seldom had clerks enough to handle his trade prop- 
erly, and nobody could suit him. As general helper 
and junior clerk, Hiram Strong had remained with 
the concern longer than any other boy Daniel had 
hired in years. 

When the early Monday morning rush was over, 
and there was moment’s breathing space, Hiram 
went to the door to re-arrange the trays of vege- 
tables which were his particular care. Hiram had a 
knack of making a bank of the most plebeian vege- 
table and salads look like the display-window of a 
florist. 

Now the youth looked out upon a typical city 
street, the dwellings on either side being four and 
five story tenement houses, occupied by artisans and 
mechanics. 

i8 


A Dreary Day 19 

A few quarreling children paddled sticks, or 
sailed chip boats, in the gutters. 

“ Come on, now ! Get a move on you. Hi ! 
sounded the raucous voice of Daniel Dwight the 
elder, behind him in the store. 

Hiram went at his task with neither interest nor 
energy. 

All about him the houses and the street were 
grimy and depressing. It had been a gray and 
murky morning; but overhead aj)atch of sky was as 
blue as June. He suddenly saw a flock of pigeons 
wheeling above the tunnel of the street, and the boy’s 
heart leaped at the sight. 

He longed for freedom. He wished he could fly, 
up, up, up above the housetops and the streets, like 
those feathered fowl. 

He knew he was stagnating here in this dingy 
store; the deadly sameness of his life chafed him 
sorely. 

rd take another job if I could find one,” he 
muttered, stirring up the bunches of yellowing 
radish leaves and trying to make them look fresh. 

And Old Daniel is likely to give me a chance to 
hunt a job pretty sudden — the way he talks. But if 
Dan, Junior, told him what happened yesterday, I 
wonder the old gentleman hasn’t been after me with 
a sharp stick.” 

From somewhere — out of the far-distant open 
country where it had been breathing all night the 


20 


Hiram the Young Farmer 

quivering pines, and brown swamps, and the white 
and gray checkered fields that would soon be up- 
turned by the plowshares — a vagrant wind wan- 
dered into the city street. 

The lingering, but faint perfume wafted here 
from God’s open world to die in this man-made 
town inspired in the youth thoughts and desires that 
had been struggling within him for expression for 
days past. 

‘‘ I know what I want,” said Hiram Strong, 
aloud. “ I want to get back to the land ! ” 

The progress of the day was not inducive to a 
hopeful outlook for Hiram. When closing time 
came he was heartily sick of the business of store- 
keeping, if he never had been before. 

And when he dragged himself home to the board- 
ing house, he found the atmosphere there as dreary 
as the street itself. The boarders were grumpy and 
Mrs. Atterson was in a tearful state again. 

Hiram could not stay in his room. It was a nar- 
row, cold place at the end of the back hall at the 
top of the house. There was a little, painted bureau 
in it, one leg of which had been replaced by a brick, 
and the little glass was so blue and blurred that he 
never could see in it whether his tie was straight or 
not. 

There was a chair, a shelf for books, and a nar- 
row folding bed. When the bed was dropped down 
for his occupancy at night, he could not get the door 


21 


A Dreary Day 

open. Had there ever been a fire at Atterson’s at 
night, Hiram’s best chance for escape would have 
been by the window. 

So this evening, to kill the miserable stretch of 
time until sleep should come to him, the boy went 
out and walked the streets. 

Two things had saved Hiram Strong from get- 
ting into bad company on these evening rambles. 
One was the small amount of money he earned, and 
the other was the naturally clean nature of the boy. 
The cheap amusements which lured on either hand 
did not attract him. 

But the dangers are there in every city, and they 
lurk for every boy in a like position. 

The main thoroughfare in this part of the town 
where Hiram boarded was brightly lighted, gaudy 
electric signs attracting notice to cheap picture 
shows, catch-penny arcades, cheap jewelry stores, 
and the ever present saloons and pool rooms. 

It looked bright, and warm, and lively in many of 
these places ; but the country-bred boy was cautious. 

Now and then a raucous-voiced automobile shot 
along the street; the electric cars made their usual 
clangor, and there was still some ordinary traffic of 
the day dribbling away into the side streets, for it 
was early in the evening. 

Hiram was about to turn into one of these side 
streets on his way back to Mrs. Atterson’s. Turn- 
ing the corner was a handsome span of horses at- 


22 


Hiram the Young Farmer 

tached to a comfortable but mud-bespattered car- 
riage. It was plainly from the country. 

The light at the corner of the street shone brightly 
into the carriage. Hiram saw a well-built man in a 
gray greatcoat and slouch hat, holding the reins 
over the backs of the spirited horses. 

Beside him sat a girl. She could have been no 
more than twelve or fourteen — not so old as Sister, 
by a year or two. But how different she was from 
the starved-looking, boarding house slavey! 

She was framed in furs — rich, gray and black 
furs that muffled her from top to toe, only leaving 
her brilliant, dark little face with its perfect features 
shining like a jewel in its setting. 

She was talking laughingly to the big man be- 
side her, and he was looking down at her. Per- 
haps this was why he did not see what lay just ahead 
— or perhaps the glare of the street light blinded 
him, as it must have the horses, as the equipage 
turned into the darker side street. 

But Hiram saw their peril. He sprang into the 
street with a cry of warning. And he was lucky 
enough to seize the nigh horse by the bridle and 
pull both the high-steppers around. 

There was an excavation — an opening for a 
water-main — in this street. The workmen had 
either neglected to leave a red lantern, or malicious 
boys had stolen it. 

Another moment and the horses would have been 



And he was lucky enough to seize the nigh horse 

by the bridle. 




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23 


A Dreary Day 

in this excavation and even now the carriage 
swayed. One forward wheel went over the edge 
of the hole, and for the minute it was doubtful 
whether Hiram had saved the occupants of the 
carriage by his quick action, or liad accelerated the 
catastrophe. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE LOST CARD 

Had Hiram Strong not been a muscular youth for 
his age, and sturdy withal, the excited horses would 
have broken away from him and the carriage would 
certainly have gone into the ditch. 

But he had a grip on the bridle reins now that 
could not be broken, although the horses plunged 
and struck fire from the stones of the street with 
their shoes. He dragged them forward, the car- 
riage pitched and rolled for a moment, and then 
stood upright again, squarely on its four wheels. 

‘‘ All right, lad ! I’ve got ’em ! ” exclaimed the 
gentleman in the carriage. 

He had a hearty, husky sort of voice — a voice 
that came from deep down in his chest and was more 
than a little hoarse. But there was no quiver of 
excitement in it. Indeed, he who had been in peril 
was much less disturbed by the incident than was 
Hiram himself. 

Nor had the girl screamed, or otherwise voiced 
her terror. Now Hiram heard her say, as he 
stepped back from the plunging horses : 

24 


The Lost Card 


25 

“ That is a good boy. Daddy. Speak to him 
again.” 

The man in gray laughed. He was now holding 
in the frightened team with one firm hand while he 
fumbled in the pocket of his big coat with the other. 

‘‘ He certainly has got some muscle, that lad,” an- 
nounced the gentleman. “ Here, son, where can I 
find you when I’m in town again ? ” 

“ I work at Dwight’s Emporium,” replied Hiram, 
rather diffidently. 

All right. Thanks. Here’s my card. You’re 
the kind of a boy I like. I’ll surely look you up.” 

He held out the bit of pasteboard to Hiram; but 
as the youth stepped nearer to reach it, the impa- 
tient horses sprang forward and the carriage rolled 
swiftly by him. 

The card flipped from the man’s fingers. Hiram 
grabbed for it, but missed the card. It fluttered 
into the excavation in the street and the shadow hid 
it completely from the boy’s gaze. 

Had there been a lantern nearby, as there should 
have been, Hiram would have taken it to search for 
the lost card. For he felt suddenly as though Op- 
portunity had brushed past him. 

The man in the carriage evidently lived out of 
town. He might be a prosperous farmer. And, 
being a farmer, he might be able to give Hiram just 
the sort of job he was looking for. 

The card, of course, would have put Hiram in 


26 Hiram the Young Farmer 

touch with the man. And he seemed like a hearty, 
good-natured individual. 

“ And the girl — his daughter — was as pretty as a 
picture,” thought Hiram, as he turned wearily to- 
ward the boarding house. “Weill I don’t know 
that I’ll ever see either of them again; but if I could 
learn that man’s name and address I’d certainly look 
him up.” 

So much did this thought disturb him that he was 
up an hour earlier than usual the next morning and 
hurried to work by the way of the excavation in the 
street where the incident had occurred. 

But he could not find the card, although he got 
down into the ditch to search for it. The loose 
sand, perhaps, rattling down from the sides of the 
excavation during the night, had buried the bit of 
pasteboard, and Hiram went on to Dwight’s Em- 
porium more disheartened than ever. 

The work there went worse that morning. Old 
Daniel Dwight drove the young fellow from one 
task to another. The other clerks got a minute’s 
time to themselves now and then ; but the proprietor 
of the store seemed to have his keen eyes on Hiram 
continually. 

There was always a slow-up in the work about 
ten o’clock, and Hiram had a request to make. He 
asked Old Daniel for an hour off. 

“ An hour off — with all this work to do ? What 


The Lost Card 


27 

do you mean, boy ? ” roared the proprietor. What 
do you want an hour for ? ’’ 

‘‘ I’ve got an errand,” replied Hiram, quietly. 

'‘Well, what is it?” snarled the old man, curi- 
ously. 

" Why — it’s a private matter. I can’t tell you,” 
returned the youth, coolly. 

“No good. I’ll be bound — no good. I don’t see 
why I should let you off an hour ” 

“ I work many an hour overtime for you, Mr. 
Dwight,” put in Hiram. 

“ Yes, yes ; that’s all right. That’s the agreement. 
You knew you’d have to when you came to work 
at the Emporium. Stick to your contract, boy.” 

“ Then why don’t you stick to yours ? ” demanded 
the youth, boldly. 

“Eh! Eh! What do you mean by that?” cried 
Mr. Dwight, glaring at Hiram through his specta- 
cles. 

“ I mean that when I came to work for you seven 
months ago, you promised that, if I suited after six 
months, you would raise my wages. And you 
haven’t done so,” said the young fellow, firmly. 

For a moment the proprietor of the Emporium 
was dumb. It was true. He had promised just that. 
He had got the boy cheaper by so doing. But never 
before had he hired a boy who stayed as long as six 
months, so he had never had to raise his wages. 

“Well, well!” 


28 Hiram the Young Farmer 

He stammered for a moment; then a shrewd 
thought came to his mind. He actually smiled. 
When Mr. Dwight smiled it was worse than when 
he didn’t 

“ I told you that if you suited me I’d raise your 
pay, did I ? ” he snarled. Well, you don’t suit me. 
You never have suited me. Therefore, you get no 
raise, young man.” 

Hiram was not astonished; he was only indig- 
nant. Another boy might have expressed his anger 
by flaring up and tendering his resignation on the 
spot. 

But Hiram had that fear of debt in his breast 
which is almost always a characteristic of the frugal, 
country-bred person. He had saved little. He had 
no prospect of another job. And every Saturday 
night he was expected to pay Mrs. Atterson three 
dollars and a half. 

“ At any rate, Mr. Dwight,” he said, quietly, 
after a minute’s silence, I want an hour to myself 
this morning.” 

“ And I’ll dock ye ten cents for it,” declared the 
old man. 

“ You can do as you like about that,” returned 
Hiram, and he walked into the back room, took off 
his apron, and got into his coat. 

He had it in mind to go to the big market, where 
the farmers drove in from out of town, and see if 
he could meet one of his old neighbors, or anybody 


The Lost Card 


29 


else who could tell him of prospect of work for the 
coming season. It was early yet for farmers to be 
looking for extra hands; but Hiram hoped that he 
might see something in prospect for the future. He 
had made up his mind that, if possible, he would not 
take another job in town. 

And I can see pretty plainly that Tve got about 
through at the Emporium,’’ he thought, as he ap- 
proached the open space devoted by the City of 
Crawberry to a market for the truckmen and farm- 
ers who drove in with their wares from the sur- 
rounding country. 

At this time of day the bustle of market was over. 
The farmers would have had their breakfasts in the 
little restaurants which encircled the market-place, 
or would be preparing to drive home again. The 
hucksters and push-cart merchants were picking up 

seconds ” and lot-ends of vegetables for their 
trade. The cobbles of the market-place was a litter 
of cabbage leaves, spilled sprouts, spoiled potatoes, 
and other refuse. 

Hiram walked about, looking for somebody whom 
he knew; but most of the faces around the market 
were strange to him. Several farmers he spoke to 
about work; but they were not hiring hands, so, 
when his hour was up, he went back to the Em- 
porium, more despondent than before. 


CHAPTER V 


THE COMMOTION AT MOTHER ATTERSON’S 

By chance that evening Hiram got home to his 
boarding house in good season. The early boarders 
— “ early birds ” Crackit always termed them — had 
not yet sat down to the long table in the dingy 
dining-room. 

Indeed, the supper gong had not been pounded by 
Sister, and some of the young men were grouped im- 
patiently in the half-lighted parlor. 

Through the swinging door into the steaming 
kitchen Hiram saw a huge black woman waddling 
about the range, and heard her husky voice berating 
Sister for not moving faster. Chloe only appeared 
when a catastrophe happened at the boarding-house 
— and a catastrophe meant the removal of Mrs. At- 
terson from her usual orbit. 

She’s gone to the funeral. That Uncle Jeptha 
of hern is dead,” whispered Sister in Hiram’s ear 
when she put his soup in front of him. 

"‘Ah-ha!” observed Mr. Crackit, eyeing Hiram 
with his head on one side, “ secrets, eh? Inside in- 
formation of what’s in the pudding sauce? ” 

Nothing went right at the boarding-house during 

30 


The Commotion at Mother Atterson’s 31 

the next two days. And for Hiram Strong nothing 
seemed to go right anywhere! 

He demanded — and got the permission, with an- 
other ten-cent tax — another hour off to visit the 
market. But he found nobody who would hire a 
boy at once. Some of the farmers doubted if he 
knew as much about farm- work as he claimed to 
know. He was, after all, a boy, and some of them 
would not believe that he had even worked in the 
country. 

Affairs at the Emporium were getting strained, 
too. Daniel Dwight was as shrewd a man as the 
next one. He saw plainly that his junior clerk was 
getting ready — like the many who had gone before 
him — for a flitting. 

He knew the signs of discontent, although Hiram 
prided himself on doing his work just as well as 
ever. 

Then, there was a squabble with Dan, Junior. 
The imp was always underfoot on Saturdays. He 
was supposed to help — to run errands, and take out 
in a basket certain orders to nearby customers who 
might be in a hurry. 

But usually when you wanted the boy he was in 
the alley pitching buttons with loafing urchins of his 
own kind — alley rats ’’ his father angrily called 
them, — or leading a predatory gang of the same un- 
savory companions in raids on other stores in the 
neighborhood. 


32 


Hiram the Young Farmer 

And Dan, Junior “ had it in ” for Hiram. He 
had not forgiven the bigger boy for pitching him 
into the puddle. 

“ An’ them was my best clo’es, and now maw 
says I’ve got to wear ’em just the same on Sunday, 
and they’re shrunk and stained,” snarled the younger 
Dan, hovering about Hiram as the latter re-dressed 
the fruit stand during a moment’s let-up in the 
Saturday morning rush. Gimme an orange.” 

What ! At five cents apiece ? ” exclaimed 
Hiram. “ Guess not. Go look in the basket under 
the bench ; maybe there’s a specked one there.” 

Nope. Dad took ’em all home last night and 
maw cut out the specks and sliced ’em for supper. 
Gimme a good orange.” 

‘‘ Ask your father,” said Hiram. 

Naw, I won’t ! ” declared young Dwight, know- 
ing very well what his father’s answer would be. 

He suddenly made a grab for the golden globe on 
the apex of Hiram’s handsomest pyramid. 

“ Let that alone, Dan ! ” cried Hiram, and seized 
the youngster by the wrist. 

Dan, Junior, was a wiry little scamp, and he 
twisted and turned, and kicked and squalled, and 
Hiram was just wrenching the orange from his 
hand when Mr. Dwight came to the door. 

“ What’s this ? What’s this ? ” he demanded. 
“ Fighting, are ye? Why don’t you tackle a fellow 
of your own size. Hi Strong?” 


The Commotion at Mother Atterson’s 33 

At that Dan, Junior, saw his chance and broke 
into woeful sobs. He was a good actor. 

I’ve a mind to turn you over to a policeman, 
Hiram,” cried Mr. Dwight, ‘‘ That’s what I’ve a 
mind to do.” 

“ I suppose you’ll discharge me first, won’t you ? ” 
suggested Hiram, scornfully. 

“ You can come in and git your money right now, 
young man,” said the proprietor of the Emporium. 
“ Dan ! let them oranges alone. And don’t you go 
away from here. I’ll want you all day to-day. I 
shall be short-handed with this young scalawag 
leaving me in the lurch like this.” 

It had come so suddenly that Hiram almost lost 
his breath. He had part of his wish, that was sure. 
He was not likely to work for Daniel Dwight any 
longer. 

The old man led the way back to his office. He 
had a little pile of money already counted out upon 
the desk. It was plain that he had intended quarrel- 
ing with Hiram and getting rid of him at this time, 
for he had the young fellow’s wages figured up to 
that very hour — and twenty cents deducted for the 
two hours Hiram had had off.” 

“ But that isn’t fair. I’m willing to work to the 
end of the day. I ought to get my wages in full for 
the week, save for the twenty cents,” said Hiram, 
mildly. 

To tell the truth, now that he had lost his job — 


34 Hiram the Young Farmer 

unpleasant as it had been — Hiram was more than a 
little troubled. He was indeed about to be cast 
adrift 

‘‘ You’ll git jest that sum, and not a cent more,” 
declared Mr. Dwight, sharply. ‘‘ And if you start 
any trouble here I’ll call in the officer on the beat — 
yes, I will ! I don’t know but I ought to deduct the 
cost of Dan, Junior’s, spoiled suit, too. He says you 
an’ he was skylarkin’ on Sunday and that’s how he 
fell into the water.” 

Hiram had no answer to make to this. What was 
the use? He took the money, slipped it into his 
pocket, and went out. 

He did not linger around the Emporium. Nor 
was he scarcely out of sight when a man driving a 
span of handsome bay horses halted his team before 
the store, jumped out, and went in. 

“ Are you the proprietor of Dwight’s Empor- 
ium ? ” asked the man in the gray coat and hat, in 
his hearty tones. ‘‘You are? Glad to meet you! 
I’m looking for a young man who works for you.” 

“Who’s that? What do you want of him?” 
asked Dan, Senior, doubtfully, and rubbing his 
hand, for the stranger’s grip had been as hearty as 
his voice. 

The other laughed in his jovial way. “ Why, to 
tell the truth, I don’t know his name. I didn’t ask 
him. He’s not much more than a boy — a sturdy 
youngster with a quick way with him. He did me a 


The Commotion at Mother Atterson’s 35 

service the other evening and I wanted to see him.” 

There ain’t any boy working here,” snapped Mr. 
Dwight.” Them’s all the clerks I got behind the 
counter — and there ain’t one of ’em under thirty, 
I’ll be bound.” 

“ That’s so,” admitted the stranger. ‘‘ And al- 
though it was so dark I could not see that fellow’s 
face, and I didn’t ask his name, I am sure he was 
young.” 

‘‘ I jest discharged the only boy I had — -and scamp 
enough he was,” snarled Mr. Dwight. ‘‘ If you were 
looking for him, you’d have been sorry to find him. 
I didn’t know but I’d have to send for a policeman 
to git him off the premises.” 

“ What— what? ” 

That’s what I tell you. He was a bad egg. 
Mebbe he’s the boy you want — ^but you won’t get 
no good of him when you find him. And I’ve no 
idea where he’s to be found now,” and the old man 
turned his back on the man in the gray coat and 
went into his office. 

The stranger climbed back into his buggy and 
took up the lines again with a preoccupied head- 
shake. 

Now, I promised Lettie,” he muttered, “ that I’d 
find out all about that boy — and maybe bring him 
home with me. Funny that man gave his such a bad 
character. Wish I could have seen the lad’s face 
the other night — that would have told the story. 


36 Hiram the Young Farmer 

Well/’ and he dismissed the matter with a sigh, 
for he was busy man, if he’s got my card, and he 
is out of a job, perhaps he’ll look me up. Then we’ll 
see.” 


CHAPTER VI 


THIS didn’t get by HIRAM 

‘‘ I’ve sure got plenty of time now to look for a 
job,” observed Hiram Strong when he was two 
blocks away from Dwight’s Emporiurri. ‘‘ But I de- 
clare I don’t know where to begin.” 

For his experience in talking with the farmers 
around the market had rather dashed Hiram’s hope 
of getting a place in the country at once. It was too 
early in the season. Nor did it look so much like 
Spring as it had a week ago. Already Hiram had 
to turn up the collar of his rough coat, and a few 
flakes of snow were settling on his shoulders as he 
walked. 

“ It’s winter yet,” he mused. If I can’t get 
something to do in the city for a few weeks to tide 
me over. I’m afraid I shall have to find a cheaper 
place to board than at Mother Atterson’s.” 

After half an hour of strolling from street to 
street, however, Hiram decided that there was noth- 
ing in that game. He must break in somewhere, so 
he turned into the very next warehouse. 

“Want a job? I’ll be looking for one myself 
37 


38 Hiram the Young Farmer 

pretty soon, if business isn’t better,” was the an- 
swer he got from the first man he approached. 

But Hiram kept at it, and got short answers and 
long answers, pleasant ones and some that were not 
so pleasant ; but all could be summed up in the single 
monosyllable : 

‘‘ No!” 

I certainly am a failure here in town,” Hiram 
thought, as he walked through the snow-blown 
streets. ‘‘ How foolish I was ever to have come 
away from the country. 

‘‘ A fellow ought to stick to the job he is fitted 
for — and that’s sure. But I didn’t know. I thought 
there would be forty chances in town to one in the 
country. 

“And there doesn’t seem to be a single chance 
right now. Why, I’ll have to leave Mrs. Atterson’s, 
if I can’t find a job before next week is out ! 

“ This mean old town is over-crowded with fel- 
lows like me looking for work. And when it comes 
to office positions, I haven’t a high-school diploma, 
nor am I fitted for that kind of a job. 

“ I want to be out of doors. Working in a stuffy 
office wouldn’t suit me. Oh, as a worker in the 
city I am a rank failure, and that’s all there is about 
it!” 

He went home to supper much more tired than he 
would have been had he done a full day’s work at 
Dwight’s Emporium. Indeed, the job he had lost 


39 


This Didn’t Get by Hiram 

now loomed up in his troubled mind as much more 
important than it had seemed when he had desired 
to change it for another. 

Mother Atterson was at home. She hadn’t more 
than taken off her bonnet, however, and had had 
but a single clash with Chloe in the kitchen. 

I smelled it burnin’ the minute I set my foot on 
the front step ! ” she declared. “ You can’t fool my 
nose when it comes to smelling burned stuff. 

'' Well, Hiram,” she continued, too full of news 
to remark that he was at home long before his time, 

I saw the poor old soul laid away, at least. I 
wish now I’d got Chloe in before, and gone to see 
Uncle Jeptha before he was in his coffin. 

“ But I didn’t think I could afford it, and that’s a 
fact. We poor folks can’t have many pleasures in 
this world of toil and trouble ! ” added the boarding 
house mistress, to whom even the break of a funeral, 
or a death-bed visit, was in the nature of a solemn 
amusement. 

“ And there the old man went and made his will 
years ago, unbeknownst to anybody, and me bein’ 
his only blood relation, as you might say, though 
it was years since I seen him much, but he remem- 
bered my mother with love,” and she began to wipe 
her eyes. 

‘‘ Poor old man ! And me with a white-faced 
cow that I’m afraid of my life of, and an old horse 
that looks like a moth-eaten hide trunk we used to 


40 Hiram the Young Farmer 

have in our garret at home when I was a little girl, 
and belonged to my great-great-grandmother At- 
terson 

“ And there’s a mess of chickens that eat all day 
long and don’t lay an egg as far as I could see, be- 
sides a sow and a litter of six pigs that squeal worse 
than the the switch-engine down yonder in the 
freight yard 

“ And they’re all to be fed, and how I’m to do it, 
and feed the boarders, too, I don’t for the life of 
me see ! ” finished Mrs. Atterson, completely out of 
breath. 

What do you mean ? ” cried Hiram, suddenly 
waking to the significance of the old lady’s chatter. 

Do you mean he willed you these things ? ” 

'‘Of course,” she returned, smoothing down her 
best black skirt. “ They go with the house and out- 
buildings — ‘ all the chattels and appurtenances 
thereto ’, the will read.” 

“ Why, Mrs. Atterson ! ” gasped Hiram. “ He 
must have left you the farm.” 

“That’s what I said,” returned the old lady, 
complacently. “ And what I’m to do with it I’ve 
no more idea than the man in the moon.” 

“ A farm ! ” repeated Hiram, his face flushing and 
his eyes beginning to shine. 

Now, Hiram Strong was not a particularly hand- 
some youth, but in his excitement he almost looked 
so. 


41 


This Didn’t Get by Hiram 

‘‘ Eighty acres, so many rods, and so many 
perches,” pursued Mrs. Atterson, nodding. That’s 
the way it reads. The perches is in the henhouse, I 
s’pose — though why the description included them 
and not the hens’ nests I dunno.” 

“ Eighty acres of land ! ” repeated Hiram, in a 
daze. 

‘‘ All free and clear. Not a dollar against it — 
only encumbrances is the chickens, the cow, the 
horse and the pigs,” declared Mrs. Atterson. *Hf 
it wasn’t for them it might not be so bad. Scoville’s 
an awfully nice place, and the farm’s on an automo- 
bile road. A body needn’t go blind looking for 
somebody to go by the door occasionally. 

And if it got so bad here finally that I couldn’t 
make a livin’ keeping boarders,” pursued the lady, 

I might go out there and live in the old house — • 
which isn’t much, I know, but it’s a shelter, and my 
tastes are simple, goodness knows.” 

But a farm, Mrs. Atterson ! ” broke in Hiram. 

Think what you can do with it! ” 

'' That’s what I’d like to have you, or somebody 
else tell me,” exclaimed the old lady, tartly. I 
ain’t got no more use for a farm than a cat has for 
two tails ! ” 

‘‘ But — but isn’t it a good farm? ” queried Hiram, 
puzzled. 

'' How do I know ? ” snapped the boarding house 
mistress. 'H wouldn’t know one farm from an- 


42 Hiram the Young Farmer 

other, exceptin’ two can’t be in exactly the same 
spot. Oh ! do you mean, could I sell it? ” 

No ” 

“ The lawyer advised me not to sell just now. 
He said something about the state of the real es- 
tate market in that section. Prices would be better 
in a year or two. And then, the old place is mighty 
run down.” 

Thafs what I mean,” Hiram hastened to say. 
Has it been cropped to death ? Is the soil worn 
out? Can’t you run it and make something out of 
it? ” 

For pity’s sake!” ejaculated the good lady, 
how should I know? And I couldn’t run it — I 
shouldn’t know how. 

“I’ve got a neighbor- woman in the house just 
now to ’tend to things — and that’s costin’ me a dol- 
lar and a half a week. And there’ll be' taxes to pay, 
and — and — Well, I just guess I’ll have to try and 
sell it now and take what I can get. 

“ Though that lawyer says that if the place was 
fixed up a little and crops put in it would make a 
thousand dollars’ difference in the selling price. 
That is, after a year or two. 

“ But bless us and save us ! ” cried Mrs. Atterson, 
“ I’d be swamped with expenses before that time.” 

“ Mebbe not,” said Hiram Strong, trying to re- 
press his eagerness. “ Why not try it? ” 

“ Try to run that farm? ” cried she. “ Why, I’d 


43 


This Didn’t Get by Hiram 

jest as lief go up in one o’ those aeroplanes and try 
to run it. I wouldn’t be no more up in the air then 
than I would be on a farm,” she added, grimly. 

‘‘ Get somebody to run it for you — do the outside 
work, I mean, Mrs. Atterson,” said Hiram. “ You 
could keep house out there just as well as you do 
here. And it would be easy for you to learn to 
milk ” 

‘‘ That whitefaced cow? My goodness! I’d just 
as quick learn to milk a switch-engine ! ” 

‘‘ But it’s only her head that looks so wicked to 
you,” laughed Hiram. ‘‘And you don’t milk that 
end.” 

“ Well — mebbe,” admitted Mrs. Atterson, doubt- 
fully. “ I reckon I could make butter again — I used 
to do that when I was a girl at my aunt’s. And 
either I’d make those hens lay or I’d have their 
dratted heads off ! 

“ And my goodness me ! To get rid of the board- 
ers — Oh, stop your talkin’. Hi Strong I That is too 
good to ever be true. Don’t talk to me no more.” 

“ But I want to talk to you, Mrs. Atterson,” per- 
sisted the youth, eagerly. 

“ Well, who’d I get to do the outside work — put 
in crops, and ’tend ’em, and look out for that old 
horse? ” 

Hiram almost choked. This opportunity should 
not get past him if he could help it! 

“ Let me do it, Mrs. Atterson. Give me a chance 


44 Hiram the Young Farmer 

to show you what I can do,” he cried. “ Let me 
run the farm for you ! ” 

‘‘ Why — why do you suppose that it could be 
made to pay us, Hi?” demanded his landlady, in 
wonder. 

‘‘ Other farms pay; why not this one?” rejoined 
Hiram, sententiously. ‘‘ Of course,” he added, his 
native caution coming to the surface, ‘‘ I’d want to 
see the place — to look it over pretty well, in fact — 
before I made any agreement. And I can assure 
you, Mrs. Atterson, if I saw no chance of both you 
and me making something out of it I should tell 
you so.” 

But — ^but your job, Hiram? And I wouldn’t 
approve of your going out there and lookin’ at the 
place on a Sunday.” 

“ I’ll take the early train Monday morning,” said 
the youth, promptly. 

'‘But what will they say at the store? Mr. 
Dwight ” 

“ He turned me off to-day,” said Hiram, steadily. 
" So I won’t lose anything by going out there. 

" I tell you what I’ll do,” he added briskly. “ I 
won’t have any too much money while I’m out of a 
job, of course. And I shall be out there at Scoville 
a couple of days looking the place over, it’s probable. 

" So, if you will let rne keep this three dollars 
and a half I should pay you for my next week’s 
board to-night. I’ll pay my own expenses out there 


This Didn’t Get by Hiram 45 

at the farm and if nothing comes of it, all well and 
good” 

Mrs. Atterson had fumbled for her spectacles and 
now put them on to survey the boy’s earnest face. 

“Do you mean to say you can run a farm. Hi 
Strong ? ” she asked. 

“ I do,” and he smiled confidently at her. 

“ And make it pay ? ” 

“ Perhaps not much profit the first season; but if 
the farm is fertile, and the marketing conditions are 
right, I know I can make it pay us both in two 
years.” 

“ I’ve got a little money saved up. I could sell 
the house in a week, for it’s always full and there 
are always lone women like me with a little driblet 
of money to exchange for a boarding house — heaven 
help us for the fools we are ! ” Mrs. Atterson ex- 
claimed. 

“ And I expect you could raise vegetables enough 
to part keep us. Hi, even if the farm wasn’t a great 
success ? ” 

“ And eggs, and chickens, and the pigs, and milk 
from the cow,” suggested Hiram. 

“ Well ! I declare, that’s so,” admitted Mrs. At- 
terson. “ I’d been lookin’ on all them things as an 
expense. They could be made an asset, eh? ” 

“ I should hope so,” responded Hiram, smiling. 

“ And I could get rid of these boarders — My 
soul and body ! ” gasped the tired woman, suddenly. 


46 Hiram the Young Farmer 

Do you suppose it's true, Hi ? Get rid of worry in* 
about paying the bills, and whether the boarders air 
all going to keep their jobs and be able to pay regu- 
larly — And the gravy! 

Hiram Strong! If you can show me a way out 
of this valley of tribulation I’ll be the thankfullest 
woman that you ever seen. It’s a bargain. Don’t 
you pay me a cent for this coming week. And I 
shouldn’t have taken it, anyway, when you’re 
throwed out of work so. That’s a mighty mean 
man, that Daniel Dwight. 

“You go right ahead and look that farm over. 
If it looks good, you come back and we’ll strike a 
bargain, I know. And — and — Just to think of 
getting rid of this house and these boarders ! ” and 
Mrs. Atterson finished by wiping her eyes again 
vigorously. 


CHAPTER VII 


HOW HIRAM LEFT TOWN 

Hiram Strong was up betimes on Monday 
morning — Sister saw to that. She rapped on his 
door at four-thirty. 

Sometimes Hiram wondered when the girl ever 
slept. She was still dragging about the kitchen or 
dining-room when he went to bed, and she was first 
down in the morning — even earlier than Mrs. Atter- 
son herself. 

The boarding house mistress was not intentionally 
severe with Sister ; but the much harassed lady had 
never learned to make her own work easy, so how 
should she be expected to be easy on Sister ? 

Once or twice Hiram had talked with the orphan. 
Sister had a dreadful fear of returning to the “ in- 
stitution ’’ from which Mrs. Atterson had taken 
her. And Sister’s other fearful remembrance was 
of an old woman who beat her and drank much 
gin and water. 

Not that she had been ill-treated at the institu- 
tion; but she had been dressed in an ugly uniform, 
47 


48 Hiram the Young Farmer 

and the girls had been rough and pulled her pig- 
tails like Dan, Junior. 

‘‘ Once a gentleman came to see me,” Sister con- 
fided to Hiram. ‘‘ He was a lawyer gentleman, the 
matron told me. He knew my name — ^but I’ve 
forgotten it now. 

And he said that somebody who once belonged 
to me — or I once belonged to them — had died and 
perhaps there would be some money coming to me. 
But it couldn’t have been the old woman I lived 
with, for she never had only money enough for 
gin! 

“ Anyhow, I was glad. I axed him how much 
money — was it enough to treat all the girls in the 
institution one round of ice-cream soda, and he 
lafifed, he did. And he said yes — just about enough 
for that, if he could get it for me. And I ran 
away and told the girls. 

‘‘ I promised them all a treat. But the man 
never came again, and by and by the big girls said 
they believed I storied about it, and one night they 
came and dragged me out of bed and hung me out 
of the window by my wrists, till I thought my arms 
would be pulled right out of the sockets. 

“ They was awful cruel — them girls. But when 
I axed the matron why the man didn’t come no 
more, she put me off. I guess he was only foolin’,” 
decided Sister, with a sigh. Folks like to fool me 
— like Mr. Crackit — eh?” 


How Hiram Left Town 


49 


But Mrs. Atterson told Hiram, when he asked 
about Sister’s meagre little story, that the institu- 
tion had promised to let her know if the lawyer 
ever returned to make further inquiries about the 
orphan. Somebody really had died who was of 
kin to the girl, but through some error the institu- 
tion had not made a proper record of her pedigree 
and the lawyer who had instituted the search 
seemed to have dropped out of sight. 

But Hiram was not troubled by poor Sister’s 
private affairs upon this Monday morning. It 
was the beginning of a new week, indeed, to him. 
He had turned over a new leaf of experience. He 
hoped that he was pretty near to the end of his 
harsh city existence. 

He hurried down stairs, long in advance of the 
other boarders, and Mrs. Atterson served him some 
breakfast, although there was no milk for the 
coffee. 

“ I dunno where that plague o’ my life. Sister’s, 
gone,” sputtered the old lady, fussing about, be- 
tween dining-room and kitchen. “ I sent her out 
ten minutes ago for the milk. And if you want 
to get that first train to Scoville you’ve got to 
hurry.” 

“ Never mind the milk,” laughed the young 
fellow. ‘‘ The train’s more important this morn- 
ing.” 

So he bolted the remainder of his breakfast, swal- 
lowed the black coffee, and ran out. 


Hiram the Young Farmer 

He arrived at Scoville while the morning was 
still young. It was not his intention to go at once 
to the Atterson farm. There were matters which 
he desired to look into in addition to judging the 
quality of the soil on the place and the possibility 
of making it pay. 

He went to the storekeepers and asked questions 
about the prices paid for garden truck. He walked 
about the town and saw the quality of the resi- 
dences, and noted what proportion of the townsfolk 
cultivated gardens of their own. 

There was a big girls’ boarding-school, and two 
small, but well-patronized hotels. The proprietors 
of these each owned a farm; but they told Hiram 
that it was necessary for them to buy much of 
their table vegetables from city produce men, as 
the neighboring farmers did not grow much. 

In talking with one storekeeper Hiram men- 
tioned the fact that he was going to look at the At- 
terson place with a view to farming it for its new 
owner. When he walked out of the store he found 
himself accosted by a lean, snaky-looking man who 
had stood within the store the moment before. 

What’s this widder woman goin’ to do with the 
farm old Jeptha left her?” inquired the man, 
looking at Hiram slily. 

“We don’t know yet, sir, what we shall do with 
it,” the young fellow replied. 

“ You her son?” 


How Hiram Left Town 51 

‘‘ No. I may work for her — can’t tell till I’ve 
looked at the place.” 

'' It ain’t much to look at,” said the man, quickly. 
“ I come near buying it once, though. In fact ” 

He hesitated, still eyeing Hiram sideways. The 
boy waited for him to speak again. He did not 
wish to be impolite; but he did not like the man’s 
appearance. 

What do y’ reckon this Mis’ Atterson would 
sell for? ” finally demanded the man. 

“ She has been advised not to sell — at present.” 

Who by?” 

Mr. Strickland, the lawyer.” 

‘‘ Humph ! Mebbe I’d buy it — and give her a 
good price for it — right now.” 

‘‘ What do you consider a good price ? ” asked 
Hiram, quietly. 

Twelve hundred dollars,” said the man. 

I will tell her. But I do not think she would 
sell for that price — nothing like it, in fact.” 

Well, mebbe she’ll feel different when she 
comes to think it over. No use for a woman trying 
to run a farm. And if she has to pay for every- 
thing to be done, she’ll be in a hole at the end of 
the season. I guess she ain’t thought of that?” 

It wouldn’t be my place to point it out to her,” 
returned Hiram, coolly, ‘‘ if it were so, and I wanted 
to work for her.” 

‘‘ Humph ! Mebbe not. Well, my name’s Pepper. 


52 Hiram the Young Farmer 

Mebbe Fll be out to see her some day/’ he said, and 
turned away. 

“ He’s one of the people who will discourage 
Mrs. Atterson,” thought Hiram. ‘‘ And he has 
an axe to grind. If I decide to take the "job of 
making this farm pay, I’m going to have the agree- 
ment in black and white with Mrs. Atterson; for 
there will be a raft of Job’s comforters, perhaps, 
when we get settled on the place.” 

It was late in the afternoon before Hiram was 
ready to start for the farm itself. He had made 
some enquiries, and had decided to stop at a neigh- 
bor’s for overnight, instead of going to the house 
where a lone woman had been left in charge by 
Mrs. Atterson. 

The Pollocks had been recommended to Hiram, 
and by leaving the road within half a mile of the 
Atterson farm, and cutting across the fields, he 
came into the dooryard of the Pollock place. A 
well-grown boy, not much older than himself, was 
splitting some chunks at the woodpile. He stopped 
work to gaze at the visitor with much curiosity. 

“ From what they told me in town,” Hi said, 
holding out his hand with a smile, “you must be 
Henry Pollock?” 

The boy blushed, but awkwardly took and shook 
Hi’s hand. 

“ That’s what they call me — Henry Pollock — 
when they don’t call me Hen/' 


How Hiram Left Town 


53 


‘‘ Well, ril make a bargain with you, Henry,” 
laughed Hiram. I don’t like to have my name 
cut off short, either. My name’s Hiram Strong. 
So if you’ll agree to always call me ‘ Hiram ’ I’ll 
always call you ‘ Henry.’ ” 

“It’s a go!” returned the other, shaking hands 
again. “ You going to live around here ? Or are 
you jest visiting? ” 

“ I don’t know yet,” confessed Hiram, sitting 
down beside the boy. “ You see. I’ve come out to 
look at the Atterson place.” 

“ That’s right over yonder. You can see the 
roof if you stand up,” said Henry, quickly. 

Hiram stood up and, in the light of the early 
sunset, he caught a glimpse of the roof in question. 

“ Your folks going to buy it of the old lady 
Uncle Jeptha left it to? ” asked Henry, with pardon- 
able curiosity. “ Or are you going to rent it? ” 
“What do you think of renting it?” queried 
Hiram, showing that he had Yankee blood in him 
by answering one question with another. 

“ Well — it’s pretty well run down, and that’s a 
fact. The old man couldn’t do much the last few 
years, and them Dickersons who farmed it for him 
ain’t no great shakes of farmers, now I tell you! ” 
“ Well, I want to look the farm over before I 
decide what I’ll do,” said Hiram, slowly. “And 
of course I can’t do that to-night. They told me 
in town that sometimes you take boarders ? ” 


54 Hiram the Young Farmer 

In the summer we do,” returned Henry. 

‘‘ Do you think your folks will put me up over- 
night ? ” 

“ Why, I reckon so — Hiram Strong, did you say 
your name was? Come right in,” added Henry, 
hospitably, “ and I’ll ask mother.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE LURE OF GREEN FIELDS 

The Pollocks proved to be a neighborly family — 
and a large one. As Henry said, there was a ‘‘ whole 
raft of young ’uns ” younger than he was. They 
made Hiram very welcome at the supper table, and 
showed much curiosity about his personal affairs. 

But the young fellow had been used to just such 
people before. They were not a bad sort, and if 
they were keenly interested in the affairs of other 
people, it was because they had few books and news- 
papers, and small chance to amuse themselves in 
the many ways which city people have. 

Hiram slept with Henry that night, and Henry 
agreed to show the visitor over the Atterson place 
the next day. 

I know every stick and stone of it as well as 
I do ourn,” declared Henry. “ And Dad won’t 
mind my taking time now. Later — Whew! I tell 
you, we hafter just git up an’ dust to make a crop. 
Not much chance for fun after a week or two until 
the corn’s laid by.” 

‘‘ You know all the boundaries of the Atterson 
farm, do you? ” Hiram asked. 

55 


56 Hiram the Young Farmer 

‘‘ Yes, sir! ’’ replied Henry, eagerly. ‘‘ And say! 
do you like to fish? ” 

Of course; who doesn’t? ” 

“ Then we’ll take some lines and hooks along — 
and mother’ll lend us a pan and kettle. Say ! We’ll 
start early — ’fore anybody’s a-stir — ^and I bet 
there’ll be a big trout jumping in the^pool under the 
big sycamore.” 

“ That certain-sure sounds good to me ! ” cried 
Hiram, enthusiastically. 

So it was agreed, and before day, while the mist 
was yet rolling across the fields, and the hedge 
sparrows were beginning to chirp, the two set forth 
from the Pollock place, crossed the wet fields, and 
the road, and set off down the slope of a long hill, 
following, as Henry said, near the east boundary 
of the Atterson farm — the line running from the 
automobile road to the river. 

It was a dull spring morning. The faint breeze 
that stirred on the hillside was damp, but odorous 
with new-springing herbs. As Hiram and Henry 
descended the aisle of the pinewood, the treetops 
whispered together as though curious of these bold 
humans who disturbed their solitude. 

“ It doesn’t look as though anybody had been 
here at the back end of old Jeptha Atterson’s farm 
for years,” said Hiram. 

‘‘And it’s a fact that nobody gets down this 
way often,” Henry responded. 


The Lure of Green Fields 57 

The brown tags sprung under their feet; now 
and then a dew-wet branch swept Hiram’s cheek, 
seeking with its cold fingers to stay his progress. 
It was an enchanted forest, and the boy, heart- 
hungry from his two years of city life, was en- 
chanted, too! 

Hiram learned from talking with his companion 
that at one time the piece of thirty-year-old timber 
they were walking through had been tilled — after a 
fashion. But it had never been properly cleared, as 
the hacked and ancient stumpage betrayed. 

Here and there the lines of corn rows which had 
been plowed when the last crop was laid by were 
plainly revealed to Hiram’s observing eye. Where 
corn had grown once, it should grow again; and 
the pine timber would more than pay for being 
cut, for blowing out the big stumps with dynamite, 
and tam-harrowing the side hill. 

Finally they reached a point where the ground 
fell away more abruptly and the character of the 
timber changed, as well. Instead of the stately 
pines, this more abrupt declivity was covered with 
hickory and oak. The sparse brush sprang out of 
rank, black mold. 

Charmed by the prospect, Hiram and Henry de- 
scended this hill and came suddenly, through a 
fringe of brush, to the border of an open cove, or 
bottom. 

At some time this lowland, too, had been cleared 


58 Hiram the Young Farmer 

and cultivated; but now young pines, quick-spring- 
ing and lush, dotted the five or six acres of practi- 
cally open land which was as level as one’s palm. 

It was two hundred yards, or more, in width and 
at the farther side a hedge of alders and pussy- 
willows grew, with the green mist of young leaves 
upon them, and here and there a ghostly sycamore, 
stretching its slender bole into the air, edged the 
course of the river. 

Hiram viewed the scene with growing delight. 
His eyes sparkled and a smile came to his lips as 
he crossed, with springy steps, the open meadow on 
which the grass was already showing green in 
patches. 

Between the line of the wood they had left and 
the breadth of the meadow was a narrow, marshy 
strip into which a few stones had been cast, and 
on these they crossed dry shod. The remainder 
of the bottom-land was firm. 

“ Ain’t this jest a scrumptious place? ” demanded 
Henry, and Hiram agreed. 

At the river’s edge they parted the bushes and 
looked down upon the oily-flowing brown flood. 
It was some thirty feet broad and with the melting 
of the snows in the mountains was so deep that no 
sign was apparent here of the rocks which covered 
its bed. 

Henry led the way up the bank of the stream 
toward a huge sycamore that leaned lovingly over 


The Lure of Green Fields 59 

the water. An ancient wild grape vine, its butt 
four inches through and its roots fairly in the 
water, had a strangle-hold upon this decrepit forest 
monarch, its tendrils reaching the sycamore’s top- 
most branch. 

Under the tree was a deep hole where flotsam 
leaves and twigs performed an endless treadmill 
dance in the grasp of the eddy. 

Suddenly, while their gaze clung to the dimpling 
water, there was a flash of a bronze body — a streak 
of light along the surface of the pool — and two 
widening circles showed where the master of the 
hole had leaped for some insect prey. 

See him? ” called Henry, but under his breath, 

Hiram nodded, but squeezed his companion’s 
hand for silence. He almost held his own breath 
for the moment, as they moved back from the 
pool with the soundless step of an Indian. 

That big feller is my meat,” declared Henry. 

“ Go to it, boy ! ” urged Hiram, and set about 
preparing the camp. 

He cut with his big jack-knife and set up a 
tripod of green rods in a jiffy, skirmished for dry 
wood, lit his fire, filled the kettle from the river 
at a little distance from the eddy, and hung it over 
the blaze to boil. 

Meanwhile Henry fished out u line and an en- 
velope of hooks from an inner pocket, cut a springy 
pole back on the hillside, rigged his line and hook, 


6o Hiram the Young Farmer 

and kicked a hole in the soft, rich soil until he 
unearthed a fat angleworm. 

With this impaled upon the hook he cautiously 
approached the pool under the sycamore and cast 
gently. The struggling worm sank slowly; the 
water wrinkled about the line ; but there followed no 
tug at the hook, although Henry stood patiently 
for several moments. He cast again, and yet again, 
with like result. 

Ah, ha ! ” muttered Hiram, in his ear ; ‘‘ this 
fellow’s appetite needs tickling.' He is being fed 
too well and turns up his nose at a common earth- 
worm, does he? Let me show you a wrinkle, 
Henry.” 

Henry drew the line ashore again and shook off 
the useless bait. 

“ You’re not fishing,” Hiram continued with a 
grim smile. ‘‘ You’ve just been drowning a worm. 
But I’ll show that old fellow sulking down below 
there that he is no match this early in the spring for 
a pair of hungry boys ! ” 

He recrossed the meadow, and the stepping 
stones, to the wood. He had noticed a log lying 
in the path as he descended the hillside. With 
the toe of his boot he kicked a patch of bark from 
the log, and thereby lay bare the wavering trail 
of a busy grub. Following the trail he quickly 
found the fat, juicy insect, which immediately took 
the earthworm’s place upon the hook. 


The Lure of Green Fields 6r 

Again Henry cast and this time, before the grub 
even touched the surface of the pool, the fish leaped 
and swallowed the tempting morsel, hook and all! 

There was no playing of the fish on Henry’s 
part. A quick jerk and the gasping spotted beauty, 
a pound and a quarter, or more, in weight, lay upon 
the sward beside the crackling fire. 

Whoop-ee! ” called Henry, excitedly. That’s 
Number One ! ” 

While Hiram dexterously scaled ^nd cleaned the 
first trout, Henry caught a couple more. Hiram 
brought forth, too, the coffee, salt and pepper, 
sugar, a piece of fat salt pork and two table knives 
and forks. 

He raked a smooth bed in the glowing coals, 
sliced the pork thin, laid some slices in the pan and 
set that upon the coals, where the pork began to 
sputter almost at once. 

The water in the kettle was boiling and he made 
the coffee. Then he laid the trout upon the pan 
with three slices of pork upon each, and sat back 
upon his haunches beside Henry enjoying the de- 
licious odor in anticipation of the more solid delights 
of breakfast. 

They had hard crackers and with these, and 
drinking the coffee from the kettle itself, when it 
was cool enough, the two boys feasted like mon- 
archs. 

‘‘ By Jo ! ” exclaimed Henry. This beats maw’s 
soda biscuit and fat meat gravy!” 


62 Hiram the Young Farmer 

But as he ate, Hiram’s gaze traveled again and 
again across the scrub-grown meadow. The lay of 
the land pleased him. The richness of the soil had 
been revealed when they dug the earthworm. 

For thousands of years the riches of yonder hill- 
side had been washing down upon the bottom, and 
this alluvial was rich beyond computation. 

Here were several acres, the young farmer knew, 
which, however over-cropped the remainder of 
Uncle Jeptha’s land had been, could not be impover- 
ished in many seasons. 

It’s as rich as cream ! ” muttered he, thought- 
fully. Grubbing out these young pines wouldn’t 
take long. There’s a heavy sod and it would have 
to be ploughed deeply. Then a crop of corn this 
year, perhaps — late corn for fear the river might 
overflow it in June. And then 

‘‘Great Scot!” ejaculated Hiram, slapping his 
knee, “ what wouldn't grow on this bottom land? ” 

“ Yes, it’s mighty rich,” agreed Henry. “ But 
it’s a long way from the house — and then, the 
river might flood it over. I’ve seen water running 
over this bottom two feet deep — once.” 

They finished the al fresco meal and Hiram leaped 
up, inspired by his thoughts to brisker movements. 

“ Whatever else this old farm has on it, I vow 
and declare,” he said, “ this five or six acres alone 
might be made to pay a profit on the whole invest- 
ment 1 ” 


CHAPTER IX 


THE BARGAIN IS MADE 

Henry showed Hiram the “ branch ”, a little 
stream flowing into the river, which marked the 
westerly boundary of the farm for some ways, and 
they set off up the steep bank of this stream. 

This back end of the farm — quite forty acres, or 
half of the whole tract — had been entirely neglected 
by the last owner of the property for a great many 
years. It was some distance from the house, for the 
farm was a long and narrow strip of land from the 
highway to the river, and Uncle Jeptha had had 
quite all he could do to till the uplands and the fields 
adjacent to his home. 

They came upon these open fields — many of them 
filthy with dead weeds and littered with sprouting 
bushes — from the rear. Hiram saw that the fences 
were in bad repair and that the back of the premises 
gave every indication of neglect and shiftlessness. 

Perhaps not exactly the latter; Uncle Jeptha had 
been an old man and unable to do much active work 
for some years. But he had cropped certain of his 
fields ‘‘ on shares ”, with the usual results — impover- 
63 


64 Hiram the Young Farmer 

ished soil, illy-tilled crops, and the land left in a slov- 
enly condition which several years of careful tillage 
would hardly overcome. 

Now, although Hiram’s father had been of the 
tenant class, he had farmed other men’s land as he 
would his own. Owners of outlying farms had 
been glad to get Mr. Strong to till their fields. 

He had known how to work, he knew the reasons 
for every bit of labor he performed, and he had not 
kept his son in ignorance of them. As they worked 
together the father had explained to the son what he 
did, and why he did it. The results of their work 
spoke for themselves, and Hiram had a retentive 
memory. 

Mr. Strong, too, had been a great reader — espec- 
ially in the winter when the farmer naturally has 
more time in-doors. 

Yet he was a twelve months farmer ” ; he knew 
that the winter, despite the broken nature of the 
work, was quite as valuable to the successful farmer 
as the other seasons of the year. 

The elder Strong knew that men with more 
money, and more time for experimenting than he 
had, were writing and publishing all the time helps 
for the wise farmer. He subscribed for several pa- 
pers, and read and digested them carefully. 

Hiram, even during his two years in the city, had 
continued his subscription (although it was hard to 
find the money sometimes) to two or three of those 


The Bargain is Made 65 

publications that his father had most approved. And 
the boy had read them faithfully. 

He was as up-to-date in farming lore now, if not 
in actual practise, as he had been when he left the 
country to try his fortune in Crawberry. 

Beyond the place where the branch turned back 
upon itself and hid its source in the thicker timber, 
Hiram saw that the fields were open on both sides 
of this westerly line of the farm. 

‘‘ Who’s our neighbor over yonder, Henry ? ” he 
asked. 

“ Dickerson — Sam Dickerson,” said Henry. 

And he’s got a boy, Pete, no older than us. 'Say, 
Hiram, you’ll have trouble with Pete Dickerson.” 

‘‘ Oh, I guess not,” returned the young farmer, 
laughing. Trouble is something that I don’t go 
about hunting for.” 

“ You don’t have to hunt it when Pete is round,” 
said Henry, with a wry grin. ‘‘ But mebbe he won’t 
bother you, for he’s workin’ near town — for that 
new man that’s moved into the old Fleigler place. 
Bronson’s his name. But if Pete don’t bother you, 
Sam may.” 

‘‘Sam’s the father?” 

“Yep. And one poor farmer and- mean man, if 
ever there was one ! Oh, Pete comes by his orneri- 
ness honestly enough.” 

“ Oh, I hope I’ll have no trouble with any neigh- 
bor,” said Hiram, hopefully. 


66 Hiram the Young Farmer 

They came briskly to the outbuildings belonging to 
Mrs. Atterson's newly acquired legacy. Hiram 
glanced into the hog lot. She looked like a good 
sow, and the six- weeks-old shoats were in good con- 
dition. In a couple of weeks they would be big 
enough to sell if Mrs. Atterson did not care to raise 
them. 

The shoats were worth six dollars a pair, too ; he 
had inquired the day before about them. There was 
practically eighteen dollars squealing in that pen — 
and eighteen dollars would go a long way toward 
feeding the horse and cow until there was good pas- 
turage for them. 

These animals named were in the small fenced 
barnyard. In the fall and winter the old man had 
ied a good deal of fodder and other roughage, and 
during the winter the horse and cow had tramped 
this coarse material, and the stable scrapings, into a 
mat of fairly good manure. 

He looked the horse and cow over with more care. 
It was a fact that the horse looked pretty shaggy; 
but he had been used .little during the winter, and 
had been seldom curried. A ragged coat upon a 
horse sometimes covers quite as many good points as 
the same quality of garment does upon a man. 

When Hiram spoke to the beast it came to the 
fence with a friendly forward thrust of its ears, and 
the confidence of a horse that has been kindly treated 
and looks upon even a strange human as a friend. 


The Bargain is Made 67 

It was a strong and well-shaped animal, more 
than twelve years old, as Hiram discovered when he 
opened the creature’s mouth, but seemingly sound in 
limb. Nor was he too large for work on the culti- 
vator, while sturdy enough to carry a single plow. 

Hiram passed him over with a satisfactory pat on 
the nose and turned to look at the white- faced cow 
that had so terrified Mrs. Atterson. She wasn’t a 
bad looking beast, either, and would freshen shortly. 
Her calf would be worth from twelve to fifteen dol- 
lars if Mrs. Atterson did not wish to raise it. An- 
other future asset to mention to the old lady when he 
returned. 

The youth turned his attention to the buildings 
themselves — the barn, the cart shed, the henhouse, 
and the smaller buildings. That famous old decorat- 
ing firm of Wind & Weather had contracted for all 
the painting done around the Atterson place for 
many years ; but the buildings were not otherwise in 
a bad state of repair. 

A few shingles had been blown off the roofs ; here 
and there a board was loose. With a hammer and 
a few nails, and in a few hours, many of these small 
repairs could be accomplished. And a coat or two 
of properly mixed and applied whitewash would 
freshen up the whole place and — like charity — 
cover a multitude of sins. 

Henry bade him good-bye now, they shook hands, 
and Hiram agreed to let his new friend know at 


68 Hiram the Young Farmer 

once if he decided to come with Mrs, Atterson to the 
farm. 

“ We can have heaps of fun — you and me/^ de- 
clared Henry. 

“ It isn’t so bad,” soliloquized the young farmer 
when he was alone. “ There’d be time to put the 
buildings and fences in good shape before the spring 
work came on with a rush. There’s fertilizer enough 
in the barnyard and the pig pen arid the hen run — 
with the help of a few pounds of salts and some 
bone meal, perhaps — to enrich a right smart kitchen 
garden and spread for corn on that four acre lot 
yonder. 

“ Of course, this land up here on the hill needs 
humus. If it has been cropped on shares, as Henry 
says, all the enrichment it has received has been 
from commercial fertilizers. And necessarily they 
have made the land sour. It probably needs lime 
badly. 

“ Yes, I can’t encourage Mrs. Atterson to look 
for a profit in anything this year. It will take a 
year to get that rich bottom into shape for — for 
what, I wonder? Onions? Celery? It would 
raise ’em both. I’ll think about that and look over 
the market prospects more fully before I decide.” 

For already, you see, Hiram had come to the de- 
cision that this old farm could be made to pay. 
Why not? The true farmer has to have imagi- 
nation as well as the knowledge and the perse- 


The Bargain is Made 69 

verance to grow crops. He must be able in his 
mind’s eye to see a field ready for the reaping before 
he puts in a seed. 

He did not go to the house on this occasion, but 
after casually examining the tools and harness, 
and the like, left by the old man, he cut off across 
the upper end of the farm and gave the neglected 
open fields of this upper forty a casual examination. 

li she had the money to invest, I’d say buy 
sheep and fence these fields and so get rid of the 
weeds. They’ve grown very foul through neglect, 
and cultivating them for years would not destroy 
the weeds as sheep would in two seasons. 

“ But wire fencing is expensive — and so are good 
sheep to begin with. No. Slow but sure must be 
our motto. I mustn’t advise any great outlay of 
money — that would scare her to death. 

“ It will be hard enough for her to put out 
money all season long before there are any returns. 
We’ll go slow,” repeated Hiram. 

But when he left the farm that afternoon he went 
swiftly enough to Scoville and took the train for 
the not far distant city of Crawberry. This was 
Tuesday evening and he arrived just about supper 
time at Mrs. Atterson’s. 

The reason for Hiram’s absence, and the matter 
of Mrs. Atterson’s legacy altogether, had been kept 
from the boarders. And there was no time until 
after the principal meal of the day was off the 
lady’s mind for Hiram to say anything to her. 


70 Hiram the Young Farmer 

‘‘ She’s a good old soul,” thought Hiram. “ And 
if it’s in my power to make that farm pay, and yield 
her a competency for her old age. I’ll do it.” 

Meanwhile he was not losing sight of the fact 
that there was something due to him in this matter. 
He was bound to see that he got his share — and a 
just share — of any profits that might accrue from 
the venture. 

So, after the other boarders had scattered, and 
Mrs. Atterson had eaten her own late supper, and 
Sister was swashing plates and knives and forks 
about in a big pan of hot water in the kitchen sink, 
(between whiles doing her best to listen at the crack 
of the door) the landlady and Hiram Strong 
threshed out the project fully. 

It was not all one-sided ; for Mrs. Atterson, after 
all, had been bargaining all her life and could see 
the main chance ” as quickly as the next one. 
She had not bickered with hucksters, chivvied 
grocerymen, fought battles royal with butchers, and 
endured the existence of a Red Indian amidst allied 
foes for two decades without having her wits 
ground to a razor edge. 

On the other hand, Hiram Strong, although a 
boy in years, had been his own master long enough 
to take care of himself in most transactions, and 
withal had a fund of native caution. They jotted 
down memoranda of the points on which they were 
agreed, which included the following: 


The Bargain is Made 71 

Mrs. Atterson, as party of the first part”, 
agreed to board Hiram until the crops were har- 
vested the second year. In addition she was to pay 
him one hundred dollars at Christmas time this 
first year, and another hundred at the conclusion of 
the agreement — i. e., when the second year’s crop 
was harvested. 

Beside, of the estimated profits of the second 
year’s crop, Hiram was to have twenty -five per 
cent. This profit was to be that balance in the 
farm’s favor (if such balance there was) over and 
above the actual cost of labor, seed, and such pur- 
chased fertilizer or other supplies as were neces- 
sary. Mrs. Atterson agreed likewise to supply one 
serviceable horse and such tools as might be needed, 
for the place was to be run as “ a one-horse farm.” 

On the other hand Hiram agreed to give his en- 
tire time to the farm, to work for Mrs. Atterson’s 
interest in all things, to make no expenditures with- 
out discussing them first with her, and to give his 
best care and attention generally to the farm and all 
that pertained thereto. Of course, the old lady was 
taking Hiram a good deal on trust. But she had 
known the boy almost two years and he had been 
faithful and prompt in discharging his debts to her. 

But it was up to the young fellow to “ make 
good.” He could not expect to make any profit for 
his employer the first year; but he would be ex- 
pected to do so the second season, or ‘‘>show cause/' 


72 Hiram the Young Farmer 

When these matters were all discussed and the 
little memorandum signed, Hiram Strong, in his 
own room, thought the situation over very seriously. 
He was facing the biggest responsibility that he had 
been obliged to assume in his whole life. 

This was no boyish job; it was man’s work. He 
had put his hand to an agreement that might influ- 
ence his whole future,, and certainly would make or 
break his credit as a trustworthy youth and one of 
his word. 

During these past days Hiram had determined to 
get back to the soil ” and to get back to it in a 
business-like way. He desired to make good for 
Mrs. Atterson so that he might some time have the 
chance to make good for somebody else on a bigger 
scale. 

He did not propose to be a one-horse farmer ” 
all his days. 


CHAPTER X 


THE SOUND OF BEATING HOOFS 

On Monday morning Mrs. Atterson put her 
house in the agent’s hands. On Wednesday a pair 
of spinster ladies came to look at it. They came 
again on Thursday and again on Friday. 

Friday being considered an unlucky ” day they 
did not bind the bargain; but on Saturday money 
was passed, and the new keepers of the house were 
to take possession in a week. Not until then were 
the boarders informed of Mother Atterson’s change 
of circumstances, and the fact that she was going 
to graduate from the boarding house kitchen to the 
farm. 

After all, they were sorry — those light-headed, 
irresponsible young men. There wasn’t one of 
them, from Crackit down the line, who could not 
easily remember some special kindness that marked 
the old lady’s intercourse with him. 

As soon as the fact was announced that the 
boarding house had changed hands, the boarders 
were up in arms. There was a wild gabble of voices 
over the supper table that night. Crackit led the 
chorus. 


73 


74 Hiram the Young Farmer 

It’s a mean trick. Mother Atterson has sold us 
like so many cattle to the highest bidder. Ungrate- 
ful — right down ungrateful, I call it,” he declared. 
‘‘ What do you say. Feeble? ” 

‘‘ It is particularly distasteful to me just now,” 
complained the invalid. “ When Sister has learned 
to give me my hot water at just the right temper- 
ature,” and he took a sip of that innocent beverage. 

Don’t you suppose we could prevail upon the old 
lady to renig? ” 

She’s bound to put us off with half rations for 
the rest of the time she stays,” declared Crackit, 
shaking his head wisely. ‘‘ She’s got nothing to 
lose now. She don’t care if we all up and leave — 
after she gets hers.” 

That’s always the way,” feebly remarked Mr. 
Peebles. “ Just as soon as I really get settled down 
into a half-decent lodging, something happens.” 

Mr. Peebles had been a fixture at Mother Att^r- 
son’s for nearly ten years. Only Old Lem Camp 
had been longer at the place. 

The latter was the only boarder who had no ad- 
verse criticism for the mistress’s new move. In- 
deed, this evening Mr. Camp said nothing what- 
ever ; even his usual mumblings to himself were not 
heard. 

He ate slowly, and but little. He was still sit- 
ting at the table when all the others had departed. 

Mrs. Atterson started into the dining-room with 


The Sound of Beating Hoofs 75 

her own supper beween two plates when she saw 
the old man sitting there despondent in looks and 
attitude, his head resting on one clawlike hand, his 
elbow on the soiled table cloth. 

He did not look up, nor move. The mistress 
glanced back over her shoulder, and there was Sis- 
ter, sniffling and occasionally rubbing her wrist 
into her red eyes as she scraped the tower of plates 
from the dinner table. 

My soul and body ! ” gasped Mother Atterson, 
almost dropping her supper on the floor. ‘‘ There’s 
Sister — and there’s Old Lem Camp! Whatever 
will I do with ’em ? ” 

Meanwhile Hiram Strong had already left for 
the farm on the Wednesday previous. The other 
boarders knew nothing about his agreement with 
Mother Atterson ; he had agreed to go to the place 
and begin work, and take care of the stock and all, 
“ choring for himself ”, as the good lady called it, 
until she could complete her city affairs and move 
herself and her personal chattels to the farm. 

' Hiram bore a note to the woman who had prom- 
ised to care for the Atterson place, and money to 
pay her what the boarding-house mistress had 
agreed. 

“You can ‘ bach ’ it in the house as well as poor 
old Uncle Jeptha did, I reckon,” this woman told 
the youth. 

She showed him where certain provisions were — 


76 Hiram the Young Farmer 

the pork barrel, ham and bacon of the old man’s 
curing, and the few vegetables remaining from the 
winter’s store. 

The cow was about gone dry, anyway,” said 
the woman, Mrs. Larriper, who was a widow and 
lived with her married daughter some half-mile 
down the road toward Scoville, so I didn’t bother 
to milk her. 

‘‘ You’ll have to go to town to buy grain, if you 
want to feed her up — and for the chickens and the 
horse. The old man didn’t make much of a crop 
last year — or them shiftless Dickersons didn’t make 
much for him. 

I saw Sam Dickerson around here this morn- 
ing. He borrowed some of the old man’s tools 
when Uncle Jeptha was sick, and you’ll have to go 
after ’em, I reckon. 

“ Sam’s the best borrower that ever was ; but he 
never can remember to bring things back. He 
says it’s bad enough to have to borrow; it’s too 
much to expect the same man to return what he 
borrows. 

Now, Mrs. Dickerson,” pursued Mrs. Larriper, 

was as nice a girl before she married — she was a 
Stepney — as ever walked in shoe-leather. And I 
guess she’d be right friendly with the neighbors if 
Sam would let her. 

‘‘ But the poor thing never gits to go out — no, 
sir! She’s jest tied to the house. They lost a child 


The Sound of Beating Hoofs 77 

once — four year ago. That’s the only time I re- 
member of seeing Sarah Stepney in church since 
the day she was married — and she’s got a boy — 
Pete — as old as you be. 

Now, on the other side o’ ye there’s Darrell’s 
tract, and you won’t have no trouble there, for 
there ain’t a house on his place, and he lets it lie 
idle. Waiting for a rise in price, I ’spect. 

Some rich folks is cornin’ in and buying up 
pieces of land and making what they calls ‘ gentle- 
men’s estates ’ out o’ them. A family named Bron- 
son — Mr. Stephen Bronson, with one little girl — 
bought the Fleigler place only last month. 

^' They’re nice folks,” pursued this amiable but 
talkative lady, “ and they don’t live but a mile or 
so along the Scoville road. You passed the place — 
white, with green shutters, and a water-tower in 
the back, when you walked up.” 

I remember it,” said Hiram, nodding. 

“ They’re western folk. Come clear from out in 
Injiany, or Illiny, or the like. The girl’s going to 
school and she ain’t got no mother, so her father’s 
come on East with her to be near the school. 

“Well, I can’t help you no more. Them hens! 
Well, I’d sell ’em if I was Mis’ Atterson. 

“ Hens ain’t much nowadays, anyhow ; and I ex- 
pect a good many of those are too old t6 lay. 
Uncle Jeptha couldn’t fuss with chickens, and he 
didn’t raise only a smitch of ’em last year and the 


78 Hiram the Young Farmer 

year before — just them that the hens hatched them- 
selves in stolen nests, and chanced to bring up alive. 

You better grease the cart before you use it. 
It’s stood since they hauled in corn last fall. 

And look out for Dickerson. Ask' him for the 
things he borrowed. You’ll need ’em, p’r’aps, if 
you’re goin’ to do any farmin’ for Mis’ Atterson.” 

She bustled away. Hiram thought he had heard 
enough about his neighbors for a while, and he' 
went out to look over the pasture fencing, which was 
to be his first repair job. He would have that ready 
to turn the cow and her calf into as soon as the 
grass began to grow. 

He rummaged about in what had b,een half wood- 
shed and half workshop in Uncle Jeptha’s time, and 
found a heavy claw-hammer, a pair of wire cutters, 
and a pocket full of fence staples. 

With this outfit he prepared to follow the line 
fence, which was likewise the pasture fence on the 
west side, between Mrs. Atterson’s and Dickerson’s. 

Where he could, he mended the broken strands of 
wire. In other places the wires had sagged and 
were loose. The claw-hammer fixed these like a 
charm. Slipping the wire into the claw, a single 
twist of the wrist would usually pick up the sag and 
make the wire taut again at that point. 

He drove a few staples, as needed, as he walked 
along. The pasture partook of the general confor- 
mation of the farm — it was rather long and narrow. 


The Sound of Beating Hoofs 79 

It had grown to clumps of bushes in spots, and 
there was sufficient shade. But he did not come 
to the water until he reached the lower end of the 
lot. 

The branch trickled from a spring, or springs, 
farther east. It made an elbow at the corner of the 
pasture — the lower south-west corner — and there 
a water-hole had been scooped out at some past 
time. 

This waterhole was deep enough for all purposes, 
and was shaded by a great oak that had stood there 
long before the house belonging to Jeptha At- 
terson had been built. 

Here Hiram struck something that puzzled him. 
The boundary fence crossed this water-hole at a 
tangent, and recrossed to the west bank of the out- 
flowing branch a few yards below, leaving perhaps 
half of the water-hole upon the neighbor’s side of 
the fence. 

Some- of this wire at the water-hole was practi- 
cally new. So were the posts. And after a little 
Hiram traced the line of. old postholes which had 
followed a straight line on the west side of 'the 
water-hole. 

In other words, this water-privilege for Dicker- 
son’s land was of recent arrangement— so recent, 
indeed, that the young farmer believed he could see 
some fresh-turned earth about the newly-set posts. 

‘‘ That’s something to be looked into, I am 


8o Hiram the Young Farmer 

afraid/’ thought Hiram, as he moved along the 
southern pasture fence. 

But the trickle of the branch beckoned him; he 
had not found the fountain-head of the little stream 
when he had walked over a part of the timbered 
land with Henry Pollock, and now he struck into 
the open woods again, digging into the soil here 
and there with his heavy boot, marking the quality 
and age of the timber, and casting-up in his mind 
the possibilities and expense of clearing these over- 
grown acres. 

‘‘ Mrs. Atterson may have a very valuable piece 
of land here in time,” muttered Hiram. “ A saw- 
mill set up in here could cut many a hundred thou- 
sand feet of lumber — and good lumber, too. But it 
would spoil the beauty of the farm.” 

However, as must ever be in the case of the 
utility farm, the house was set on its ugliest part. 
The cleared fields along the road had nothing but 
the background of woods on the south and east to 
relieve their monotony. 

On the brow of the steeper descent, which he had 
noted on his former visit to the back end of the farm, 
he found a certain clearing in the wood. Here the 
pines surrounded the opening on three sides. 

To the south, through a break in the wooded hill- 
side, he obtained a far-reaching view of the river 
valley as it lay, to the east and to the west. The 
prospect was delightful. 


The Sound of Beating Hoofs 8i 

Here and there, on the farther bank of the river, 
v^hich rose less abruptly there than on this side, lay 
several cheerful looking farmsteads. The white 
dwellings and outbuildings dotted the checkered 
fields of green and brown. 

Cowbells tinkled in the distance, for the weather 
tempted farmers to let their cattle run in the pas- 
tures even so*early in the season. A horse whinnied 
shrilly to a mate in a distant field. 

The creaking of the heavy wheels of a laden 
farm-cart was a mellow sound in Hiram’s ears. 
Beyond a fir plantation, high on the hillside, the 
sharply outlined steeple of a little church lay against 
the soft blue horizon. 

‘‘A beauty-spot!” Hiram muttered. ‘‘What a 
site for a home! And yet people want to build 
their houses right on an automobile road, and in 
sight of the rural mail box! ” 

His imagination began to riot, spurred by the out- 
look and by the nearer prospect of wood and hill- 
side. The sun now lay warmly upon him as he sat 
upon a stump and drank in the beauty of it all. 

After a time his ear, becoming attuned to the 
multitudinous voices of the wood, descried the sil- 
very note of falling water. He arose and traced 
the sound. 

Less than twenty yards away, and not far from 
the bluff, a vigorous rivulet started from beneath 
the half-bared roots of a monster beech, and fell 


82 Hiram the Young Farmer 

over an outcropping boulder into a pool so clear that 
sand on its bottom, worked mysteriously into a pat- 
tern by the action of the water, lay revealed. 

Hiram knelt on a mossy rock beside the pool, and 
bending put his lips to the water. It was the sweet- 
est, most satisfying drink, he had imbibed for many 
a day.. 

But the morning was growing old, and Hiram 
wanted to trace the farther line of the farm. He 
went down to the river, crossed the open meadow 
again where they had built the campfire the morn- 
ing before, and found the deeply scarred oak which 
stood exactly on the boundary line between the 
Atterson and Darrell tracts. 

He turned to the north, and followed the line as 
nearly as might be. The Darrell tract was entirely 
wooded, and when he reached the uplands he kept 
on in the shadowy aisles of the sap-pines which 
covered his neighbor’s property. 

He came finally to where the ground fell away 
again, and the yellow, deeply-rutted road lay at his 
feet. The winter had played havoc with the auto- 
mobile track. 

The highway was un fenced and the bank dropped 
fifteen feet to the beaten path. A leaning oak over- 
hung the road and Hiram lingered here, lying on 
its broad trunk, face upward, with his hat pulled 
over his eyes to shield them from the sunlight which 
filtered through the branches. 


The Sound of Beating Hoofs 83 

This land hereabout was beautiful. The boy 
could appreciate the beauty as well as the utility of 
the soil. It was so pleasing to the eye that he 
wished with all his heart it had been his own land 
he had surveyed. 

“ And ril not be a tenant farmer all my life, nor 
a farm-foreman, as father was,” determined the 
boy. “ ril get ahead. If I work for the benefit of 
other people for a few years, surely Fll win the 
chance in time to at last work for myself.” 

In the midst of his ruminations a sound broke 
upon his ear — a jarring note in the peaceful mur- 
mur of the woodland life. It was the thud of 
a horse's hoofs. 

Not the sedate tunk-tunk of iron-shod feet on the 
damp earth, but an erratic and rapid pounding of 
hoof-beats which came on with such startling swift- 
ness that Hiram sat up instantly, and craned his 
neck to see up the road. 

‘‘ That horse is running away ! ” gasped the young 
farmer, and he swung himself out upon the lowest 
branch of the leaning tree which overhung the cart- 
track, the better to see along the highway. 


CHAPTER XI 


A GIRL RIDES INTO THE TALE 

There* was no bend in the highway for some dis- 
tance, but the overhanging trees masked the track 
completely, save for a few hundred yards. The 
horse, whether driven or running at large, was 
plainly spurred by fright. 

Into the peacefulness of this place its hoof-beats 
were bringing the element of peril. 

Lying prostrate on the sloping trunk, Hiram 
could see much farther up the road. The out- 
stretched head and lathered breast of a tall bay horse 
leaped into view, and like a picture in a kinetoscope, 
growing larger and more vivid second by second, 
the maddened animal came down the road. 

Hiram could see that the beast was not riderless, 
but it was a moment or two — a long-drawn, anx- 
ious space of heart-beaten seconds — ere he realized 
what manner of rider it was who clung so desper- 
ately to the masterless creature. 

It’s a girl — a little girl ! ” gasped Hiram. 

She was only a speck of color, with white, drawn 
face, on the back of the racing horse. 


A Girl Rides into the Tale 85 

Every plunge of the oncoming animal shook the 
little figure as though it must fall from the saddle. 
But Hiram could see that she hung with phenom- 
enal pluck to the broken bridle and to the single 
horn of her side-saddle. 

If the horse fell, or if she were shaken free, she 
would be flung to instant death, or be fearfully 
bruised under the pounding hoofs of the big horse. 

The young farmer’s appreciation of the peril was 
instant; unused as he was to meeting such emer- 
gency, there was neither panic nor hesitancy in his 
actions. 

He writhed farther out upon the limb of the 
leaning oak until he was direct above the road. 
The big bay naturally kept to the middle, for there 
was no obstruction in its path. 

To have dropped to the highway would have 
put Hiram to instant disadvantage; for before he 
could have recovered himself after the drop the 
horse would have been upon him. 

Now, swinging with both legs wrapped around 
the tough limb, and his left hand gripping a smaller 
branch, but with his back to the plunging brute, the 
youth glanced under his right armpit to judge 
the distance and the on-rush of the horse and its 
helpless rider. 

He knew she saw him. Swift as was the steed’s 
approach, Hiram had seen the change come into 
the expression of the girl’s face. 


86 


Hiram the Young Farmer 

“ Clear your foot of the stirrup ! ” he shouted, 
hoping the girl would understand. 

With a confusing thunder of hoofbeats the bay 
came on — was beneath him — had passed ! 

Hiram’s right arm shot out, curved slightly, and 
as his fingers gripped her sleeve, the girl let go. 
She was whisked out of the saddle and the horse 
swept on without her. 

The strain of the girl’s slight weight upon his 
arm lasted but a moment, for Hiram let go with 
his feet, swung down, and dropped. 

They alighted in the roadway with so slight a jar 
that he scarcely staggered, but set the girl down 
gently, and for the passing of a breath her body 
swayed against him, seeking support. 

Then she sprang a little away, and they stood 
looking at each other — Hiram panting and flushed, 
the girl with wide-open eyes out of which the terror 
had not yet faded, and cheeks still colorless. 

So they stood, for fully half a minute, speechless, 
while the thunder of the bay’s hoofs passed further 
and further away and finally was lost in the dis- 
tance. 

And it wasn’t excitement that kept the boy dumb ; 
for that was all over, and he had been as cool as 
need be through the incident. But it was unbounded 
amazement that made him stare so at the slight girl 
confronting him. 

He had seen her brilliant, dark little face before. 


A Girl Rides into the Tale 87 

Only once — but that one occasion had served to 
photograph her features on his memory. 

For the second time he had been of service to 
her; but he knew instantly — and the fact did not 
puzzle him — that she did not recognize him. 

It had been so dark in the unlighted side street 
back in Crawberry the evening of their first meet- 
ing that Hiram believed (and was glad) that 
neither she nor her father would recognize him as 
the boy who had kept their carriage from going 
into the open ditch. 

And he had played rescuer again — and in a much 
more heroic manner. This was the daughter of the 
man whom he had thought to be a prosperous 
farmer, and whose card Hiram had lost. 

He had hoped the gentleman might have a job 
for him; but now Hiram was not looking for a job. 
He had given himself heartily to the project of mak- 
ing the old Atterson farm pay ; nor was he the sort 
of fellow to show fickleness in such a project. 

Before either Hiram or the girl broke the si- 
lence — ^before that silence could become awkward, 
indeed — there started into hearing the ring of rapid 
hoofbeats again. But it was not the runaway re- 
turning. 

The mate of the latter appeared, and he came 
jogging along the road, very much in hand, the 
rider seemingly quite unflurried. 

This was a big, ungainly, beak-nosed boy, whose 


88 Hiram the Young Farmer 

sleeves were much too short, and trousers-legs like- 
wise, to hide Nature’s abundant gift to him in the 
matter of bone and knuckle. He was freckled and 
wore a grin that was not even sheepish. 

Somehow, this stolidity and inappreciation of the 
peril the girl had so recently escaped, made Hiram 
feel sudden indignation. 

But the girl herself took the lout to task before 
Hiram could say a word. 

I told you that horse could not bear the whip, 
Peter! ” she exclaimed, with wrathful gaze. “ How 
dared you strike him ? ” 

“ Aw — I only touched him up a bit,” drawled the 
youth. ‘‘ You said you could ride anything, didn’t 
you ? ” and his grin grew wider. “ But I see ye 
had to get off.” 

Here Hiram could stand it no longer, and he 
blurted out: 

She might have been killed 1 I believe that 
horse is running yet ” 

‘‘Well, why didn’t you stop it?” demanded the 
other youth, impudently. “ You had a chance.” 

“ He saved me,” cried the girl, looking at Hiram 
now with shining eyes. “ I don’t know how to 
thank him.” 

“ He might have stopped the horse while he was 
about it,” growled the fellow, picking up his own 
reins again. “ Now I’ll have to ride after it.” 

“ You’d better,” said the little lady, sharply. “ If 


A Girl Rides into the Tale 89 

father knew that horse had run away with me he 
would be dreadfully put out. You hurry after 
him, Peter.” 

The lout never said a word in reply, but his 
horse carried him swiftly out of sight in the wake 
of the runaway. Then the girl turned again to 
Hiram and the young farmer knew that he was 
being keenly examined by her bright black eyes. 

“ I am very sure father will not keep hirn,” de- 
clared the girl, looking at Hiram thoughtfully. 
“ He is too careless — and I don’t like him, anyway. 
Do you live around here? ” 

I expect to,” replied Hiram, smiling. I have 
just come. I am going to stay at this next house, 
along the road.” 

“ Oh ! where the old gentleman died last week ? ” 

‘‘ Yes. Mrs. Atterson was left the place by her 
uncle, and I am going to run it for her.” 

Oh, dear ! then you’ve got a place to work ? ” 
queried the little lady, with plain disappointment in 
her tone. I am sure father would like to have 
you instead of Peter.” 

But Hiram shook his head slowly, though still 
smiling. 

I’m obliged to you,” he said ; but I have 
agreed to stop with Mrs. Atterson for a time.” 

'' I want father to meet you just the same,” she 
declared. 

She had a way about her that impressed Hiram 


90 Hiram the Young Farmer 

with the idea that she seldom failed in getting what 
she wanted. If she was not a spoiled child, she 
certainly was a very much indulged one. 

But she was pretty ! Dark, petite, with a bril- 
liant smile, flashing eyes, and a riot of blue-black 
curls, she was verily the daintiest and prettiest little 
creature the young farmer had ever seen. 

“ I am Lettie Bronson,’’ she said, frankly. I 
live down the road toward Scoville. We have only 
just come here.” 

I know where you live,” said Hiram, smiling 
and nodding. 

‘‘ You must come and see us. I want you to 
know father. He’s the very nicest man there is, I 
think. 

“ He came all the way East here so as to live near 
my school — I go to the St. Beris school in Scoville. 
It’s awfully nice, and the girls are very fashionable; 
but I’d be too lonely to live if daddy wasn’t right 
near me all the time. 

“What is your name?” she asked suddenly. 

Hiram told her. 

“ Why ! that’s a regular farmer’s name, isn’t it — 
Hiram?” and she laughed — a clear and sweet 
sound, that made an inquisitive squirrel that had 
been watching them scamper away to his hollow, 
chattering. 

“ I don’t know about that,” returned the young 
farmer, shaking his head and smiling. “ I ought 


A Girl Rides into the Tale 91 

by good rights to be ‘ a worker in brass according 
to the Bible. That was the trade of Hiram, of the 
tribe of Naphtali, who came out of Tyre to make 
all the brass work for Solomon’s temple.” 

Oh ! and there was a King Hiram, of Tyre, too, 
wasn’t there, ” cried Lettie, laughing. “ You 
might be a king, you know.” 

That seems to be an unprofitable trade now-a- 
days,” returned the young fellow, shaking his head. 
“ I think I will be the namesake of Hiram, the 
brass-smith, for it is said of him that he was ‘ filled 
with wisdom and understanding’ and that is what 
I want to be if I am going to run Mrs. Atterson’s 
farm and make it pay.” 

‘‘ You’re a funny boy,” said the girl, eyeing him 
curiously. “ You’re — you’re not at all like Pete — 
or these other boys about Scoville. 

“ And that Pete Dickerson isn’t any good at 
all! I shall tell daddy all about how he touched 
up that horse and made him run. Here he comes 
now ! ” 

They had been walking steadily along the road 
toward the Atterson house, and in the direction the 
runaway had taken. Pete Dickerson appeared, 
riding one of the bays and leading the one that had 
been frightened. 

The latter was all of a lather, was blowing hard, 
and before the horses reached them, Hiram saw 
that the runaway was in bad shape, 


92 Hiram the Young Farmer 

“ Hold on ! ” he cried to the lout Breathe that 
horse a while. Let him stand. He ought to be 
rubbed down, too. Don’t you see the shape he is 
in?” 

‘‘ Aw, what’s eatin’ you ? ” demanded Pete, eye- 
ing the speaker with much disfavor. 

The horse, when he stopped, was trembling all 
over. His nostrils were dilated and as red as blood, 
and strings of foam were dripping from his bit. 

Don’t let him stand there in the shade,” spoke 
Hiram, more mildly. “ He’ll take a chill. Here ! 
let me have him.” 

He approached the still frightened horse, and 
Pete jerked the bridle-rein. The horse started back 
and snorted. 

“ Stand ’round there, ye ’tarnal nuisance ! ” ex- 
claimed Pete. 

But Hiram caught the bridle and snatched it 
from the other fellow’s hand. 

‘‘ Just let me manage him a minute,” said Hiram, 
leading the horse into the sunshine. 

He patted him, and soothed him, and the horse 
ceased trembling and his ears pricked up. Hiram, 
still keeping the reins in his hand, loosened the 
cinches and eased the saddle so that the animal 
could breathe better. 

There were bunches of dried sage-grass growing 
by the roadside, and the young farmer tore off a 
couple of these bunches and used them to wipe down 


A Girl Rides into the Tale 


93 

the horse’s legs. Pretty soon the creati^re forgot 
his fright and looked like a normal horse again. 

“If he was mine I’d give him whip a-plenty — 
till he learned better,” drawled Pete Dickerson, 
finally. 

“ Don’t you ever dare touch him with the whip 
again!” cried the girl, stamping her foot. “He 
will not stand it. You were told ” 

“ Aw, well,” said the fellow, “ I didn’t think 
he was going to cut up as bad as that. These 
Western horses ain’t more’n half broke, anyway.” 

“ I think he is perfectly safe for you to ride now. 
Miss Bronson,” said Hiram, quietly. “ I’ll give 
you a hand up. But walk him home, please.” 

He had tightened the cinches again. Lettie put 
her tiny booted foot in his hand (she wore a very 
pretty dark green habit) and with perfect ease the 
young farmer lifted her into the saddle. 

“ Good-bye — and thank you again I ” she said, 
softly, giving him her free hand just as the horse 
started. 

“ Say! you’re the fellow who’s going to live at 
Atterson’s place ? ” observed Pete. “ I’ll see yoii 
later,” and he waved his hand airily as he rode off. 

“So that's Pete Dickerson, is it?” ruminated 
Hiram, as he watched the horses out of sight. 
“ Well, if his father, Sam, is anything like him, we 
certainly have got a sweet pair of neighbors!” 


CHAPTER XII 


SOMETHING ABOUT A PASTURE FENCE 

That afternoon Hiram hitched up the old horse 
and drove into town. He went to see the lawyer 
who had transacted Uncle Jeptha Atterson’s small 
business in the old man’s lifetime, and had made 
his will — Mr. Strickland. Hiram judged that this 
gentleman would know as much about the Atterson 
place as anybody. 

“ No. Mr. Atterson never said anything to me 
about giving a neighbor water-rights,” the lawyer 
said. Indeed, Mr. Atterson was not a man likely 
to give anything away — until he had got through 
with it himself. 

Dickerson once tried to buy a right at that 
corner of the Atterson pasture; but he and the old 
gentleman couldn’t come to terms. 

“ Dickerson has no water on his place, saving his 
well and his rights on the river. It makes it bad 
for him, I suppose; but I do not advise Mrs. At- 
terson to let that fence stand. Give that sort of a 
man an inch and he’ll take a mile.” 

‘‘ But what shall I do ? ” 

‘‘ That’s professional advice, young man,” re- 
94 


Something About a Pasture Fence 95 

turned the lawyer, smiling. “ But I will give it to 
you without charge. 

Merely go and pull the new posts up and re- 
place them on the line. If Dickerson interferes 
with you, come to me and we’ll have him bound 
over before the Justice of the Peace. 

“ You represent Mrs. Atterson and are within her 
rights. That’s the best I can tell you.” 

Now, Hiram was not desirous of starting any 
trouble — legal or otherwise — with a neighbor; but 
neither did he wish to see anybody take advantage 
of his old boarding mistress. He knew that, be- 
side farming for her, he would probably have to 
defend her from many petty annoyances like the 
present case. 

So he bought the wire he needed for repairs, a 
few other things that were necessary, and drove 
back to the farm, determined to go right ahead and 
await the consequences. 

Among his purchases was an axe. In the work- 
shop on the farm was a fairly good grindstone; 
only the treadle was broken and Hiram had to re- 
pair this before he could make much headway in 
grinding the axe. Henry Pollock lived too far 
away to be called upon in such a small emergency. 

Being obliged to work alone sharpens one’s wits. 
The young farmer had to resort to shifts and ex- 
pedients on every hand, as he went along. 

The day before, while wandering in the wood, 


96 Hiram the Young Farmer 

he had marked several white oaks of the right size 
for posts. He would have preferred cedars, of 
course; but those trees were scarce on the Atterson 
tract — and they might be needed for some more 
important job later on. 

When he came up to the house at noon to feed 
the stock and make his own frugal meal in the farm- 
house kitchen, the posts were cut. After dinner he 
harnessed the horse to the farm wagon, and went 
down for the posts, taking the rolls of wire along 
to drop beside the fence. 

The horse was a steady, willing creature, and 
seemed to have no tricks. He did not drive very 
well on the road, of course; but that wasn’t what 
they needed a horse for. 

Driving was a secondary matter. 

Hiram loaded his posts and hauled them to the 
pasture, driving inside the fence line and dropping 
a post wherever one had rotted out. 

Yet posts that had rotted at the ground were not 
so easy to draw out, as the young farmer very well 
knew, and he set his wits to work to make the re- 
moval of the old posts easy of accomplishment. 

He found an old, but strong, carpenter’s horse 
in the shed, to act as a fulcrum, and a seasoned 
bar of hickory as a lever. There was never an 
old farm yet that didn’t have a useful heap of 
junk, and Hiram had already scratched over Uncle 
Jeptha’s collection of many years’ standing. 


Something About a Pasture Fence 97 

He found what he sought in a wrought iron 
band some half inch in thickness with a heavy hook 
attached to it by a single strong link. He fitted 
this band upon the larger end of the hickory bar, 
wedging it tightly into place. 

A short length of trace chain completed his simple 
post-puller. And he could easily carry the outfit 
from place to place as it was needed. 

When he found a weak or rotting post, he pulled 
the staples that held the strands of wire to it and 
and then set the trestle alongside the post. Resting 
the lever on the trestle, he dropped the end link of 
the chain on the hook, looped the chain around the 
post, and hooked on with another link. Bearing 
down on the lever brought the post out of the 
ground every time. 

With a long-handled spade Hiram cleaned out the 
old holesj or enlarged them, and set his new posts, 
one after the other. He left the wires to be tight- 
ened and stapled later. 

It was not until the next afternoon that he 
worked down as far as the water-hole. Meanwhile 
he had seen nothing of the neighbors and neither 
knew, nor cared, whether they were watching him 
or not. 

But it was evident that the Dickersons had kept 
tabs on the young farmer’s progress, for, he had no 
more than pulled the posts out of the water-hole 
and started to reset them on the proper line, than the 
long-legged Pete Dickerson appeared. 


98 Hiram the Young Farmer 

‘‘ Hey, you ! ” shouted Pete. What are you 
monkeying with that line fence for ? ” 

“ Because I won’t have time to fix it later,” re- 
sponded Hiram, calmly. 

Fresh Ike, ain’t yer? ” demanded young Dicker- 

son. 

He was half a head taller than Hiram, and 
plainly felt himself safe in adopting bullying tac- 
tics. 

You put them posts back where you found 
’em and string the wires again in a hurry — or I’ll 
make yer.” 

‘‘ This is Mrs. Atterson’s fence,” said Hiram, 
quietly. ‘‘ I have made inquiries about the line, 
and I know where it belongs. 

“ No part of this water-hole belongs on your 
side of the fence, Dickerson, and as long as I rep- 
resent Mrs. Atterson it’s not going to be grabbed.” 

‘‘ Say ! the old man gave my father the right to a 
part of this hole long ago.” 

Show your legal paper to that effect,” promptly 
suggested Hiram. “ Then we will let it stand until 
the lawyers decide the matter.” 

Pete was silent for a minute; meanwhile Hiram 
continued to dig his hole, and finally set the first 
post into place. 

“ I tell you to take that post out o’ there. Mis- 
ter,” exclaimed Pete, suddenly approaching the 
other. I don’t like you, anyway. You helped 


Something About a Pasture Fence 99 

git me turned off up there to Bronson’s yesterday. 
If you wouldn’t have put your fresh mouth in about 
the horse that gal wouldn’t have knowed so much to 
tell her father. Now you stop foolin’ with this 
fence or I’ll lick you.” 

Hiram Strong’s disposition was far from being 
quarrelsome. He only laughed at first and said : 

Why, that won’t do you any good in the end, 
Peter. Thrashing me won’t give you and your 
father the right to usurp rights at this water-hole. 

There was very good reason, as I can see, for 
old Mr. Atterson refusing to let you water your 
stock here. In time of drouth the branch probably 
furnished no more water than his own cattle needed. 
And it will be the same with piy employer.” 

“ You’d better have less talk about it, and set 
back them posts,” declared Pete, decidedly, laying 
off his coat and pulling up his shirt sleeves. 

“ I hope you won’t try anything foolish, Peter,” 
said Hiram, resting on his shovel handle. 

“ Huh ! ” grunted Pete, eyeing him sideways as 
might an evil-disposed dog. 

“ We’re not well matched,” observed Hiram, 
quietly, “ and whether you thrashed me, or I 
thrashed you, nothing would be proved by it in re- 
gard to the line fence.” 

‘‘ I’ll show you what I can prove ! ” cried Pete, 
and rushed for him. 

In a catch-as“catch-can wrestle Pete Dickerson 


lOO 


Hiram the Young Farmer 

might have been able to overturn Hiram Strong. 
But the latter did not propose to give the long- 
armed youth that advantage. 

He dropped the spade, stepped nimbly aside, and 
as Pete lunged past him the young farmer doubled 
his fist and struck his antagonist solidly under the 
ear. 

That was the only blow struck — that and the 
one when Pete struck the ground. The bigger fel- 
low rolled over, grunted, and gazed up at Hiram 
with amazement struggling with the rage expressed 
in his features. 

I told you we were not well matched, Peter,” 
spoke Hiram, calmly. “Why fight about it? You 
have no right on your side, and I do not propose 
to see Mrs. Atterson robbed of this water privilege.” 

Pete climbed to his feet slowly, and picked up his 
coat. He felt of his neck carefully and then looked 
at his hand, with the idea evidently that such a heavy 
blow must have brought blood. But of course there 
was none. 

“ ril tell my dad — that’s what Pll do,” ejaculated 
the bully, at length, and he started immediately 
across the field, his long legs working like a pair 
of tongs in his haste to get over the ground. 

But Hiram completed the setting of the posts at 
the water-hole without hearing further from any 
member of the Dickerson family. 


CHAPTER XIII 

THE UPROOTING 

These early Spring days were both busy ones 
for Hiram Strong. The mornings were frosty and 
he could not get to his fencing work until mid- 
forenoon. But there were plenty of other tasks 
ready to his hand. 

There were two south windows in the farmhouse 
kitchen. He tried to keep some fire in the stove 
there day and night, sleeping as he did in Uncle 
Jeptha’s old bedroom nearby. 

Before these two windows he erected wide 
shelves and. on these he set shallow boxes of rich 
earth which he had prepared under the cart shed. 
There was no frost under there, the earth was dry 
and the hens had scratched in it during the winter, 
so Hiram got all the well-sifted earth he needed 
for his seed boxes. 

He used a very little commercial fertilizer in 
each box, and planted some of the seeds he had 
bought in Crawberry at an agricultural warehouse 
on Main Street. 


lOI 


102 


Hiram the Young Farmer 

Mrs. Atterson had expressed the hope that he 
would put in a variety of vegetables for their own 
use, and Hiram had followed her wishes. When 
the earth in the boxes had warmed up for several 
days he put in the long-germinating seeds, like 
tomato, onions, the salads, leek, celery, pepper, egg- 
plant, and some beet seed to transplant for the early 
garden. It was too early yet to put in cabbage and 
cauliflower. 

These boxes caught the sun for a good part of 
the day. In the afternoon when the sun had gone, 
Hiram covered the boxes with old quilts and did not 
uncover them again until the sun shone in the next 
morning. He had decided to start his early plants 
in this way because he hadn’t the time at present to 
build frames outside. 

During the early mornings and late afternoons, 
too, he began to make the small repairs around the 
house and out-buildings. Hiram was handy with 
tools; indeed, a true farmer should be a good me- 
chanic as well. He must often combine carpentry 
and wheel wrighting and work at the forge, with his 
agricultural pursuits. Hiram was something bet- 
ter than a “ cold-iron blacksmith.” 

When it came to stretching the wire of the pasture 
fence he had to resort to his inventive powers. 
There are plenty of wire stretchers that can be 
purchased ; but they cost money. 

The young farmer knew that Mrs. Atterson had 


The Uprooting 103 

no money to waste, and he worked for her just as 
he would have worked for himself. 

One man working alone cannot easily stretch wire 
and make a good job of it without some mechanism 
to help him. Hiram’s was simple and easily made. 

A twelve- inch section of perfectly round post, 
seven or eight inches through, served as the drum 
around which to wind the wire, and two twenty- 
penny nails driven into the side of the drum, close 
together, were sufficient to prevent the wire from 
slipping. 

To either end of the drum Hiram passed two 
lengths of Number 9 wire through large screw- 
eyes, making a double loop into which the hook of 
a light timber chain would easily catch. Into one 
end of the drum he drove a headless spike, upon 
which the hand-crank of the grindstone fitted, and 
was wedged tight. 

In using this ingenious wire stretcher, he stapled 
his wire to post number one, carried the length 
past post number two, looped the chain around 
post number three, having the chain long enough 
so that he might tauten the wire and hold the crank- 
handle steady with his knee or left arm while he 
drove the holding staple in post number two. And 
so repeat, ad infinitum. 

After he had made this wire-stretcher the young 
fellow got along famously upon his fencing and 
could soon turn his attention to other matters, 


104 Hiram the Young Farmer 

knowing that the cattle would be perfectly safe in 
the pasture for the coming season. 

The old posts he collected on the wagon and drew 
into the dooryard, piling them beside the woodshed. 
There was not an overabundant supply of firewood 
cut and Hiram realized that Mrs. Atterson would 
use considerable in her kitchen stove before the 
next winter, even if she did not run a sitting room 
fire for long this spring. 

Using a bucksaw is not only a thankless job at 
any time, but it is no saving of time or money. 
There was a good two-handed saw in the shed and 
Hiram found a good rat-tail file. With the aid of 
a home-made saw-holder and a monkey wrench he 
sharpened and set this saw and then got Henry Pol- 
lock to help him for a day. 

Henry wasn’t afraid of work, and the two boys 
sawed and split the old and well-seasoned posts, 
and some other wood, so that Hiram was enabled 
to pile several tiers of stove-wood under the shed 
against the coming of Mrs. Atterson to her farm. 

“If the season wasn’t so far advanced, I could 
cut a lot of wood, draw it up, and hire a gasoline 
engine and saw to come on the place and saw us 
enough to last a year. I’ll do that next winter,” 
Hiram said. 

“ That’s what we all ought to do,” agreed his 
friend. 

Henry Pollock was an observing farmer’s boy 


The Uprooting 105 

and through him Hiram gained many pointers as to 
the way the farmers in that locality put in their 
crops and cultivated them. 

He learned, too, through Henry who was sup- 
posed to be the best farmer in the neighborhood, 
who had special success with certain crops, and who 
had raised the best seedcorn in the locality. 

It was not particularly a trucking community ; al- 
though, since Scoville had begun to grow so fast 
and many city people had moved into that pleasant 
town, the local demand for garden produce had 
increased. 

“ It used to be a saying here,’’ said Henry, that 
a bushel of winter turnips would supply all the 
needs of Scoville. But that ain’t exactly so now. 

The stores all want green stuff in season, and 
are beginning to pay cash for truck instead of only 
offering to exchange groceries for the stuff we 
raise. I guess if a man understood truck raising 
he could make something in this market.” 

Hiram decided that this was so, on looking over 
the marketing possibilities of Scoville. 

There was a canning factory which put up string 
beans, corn, and tomatoes; but the prices per hun- 
dred-weight for these commodities did not en- 
courage Hiram to advise Mrs. Atterson to try and 
raise anything for the canneries. A profit could not 
be made out of such crops on a one-horse farm. 

For instance, the neighboring farmers did not 


io6 Hiram the Young Farmer 

plant their tomato seeds until it was pretty safe to 
do so in the open ground. The cannery did not 
want the tomato pack to come on until late in 
August. By that time the cream of the prices for 
garden-grown tomatoes had been skimmed by the 
early truckers. 

The same with sweet corn and green beans. The 
cannery demanded these vegetables at so late a date 
that the market-price was generally low. 

These facts Hiram bore in mind as he planned 
his season’s work, and especially the kitchen gar- 
den. This latter he planned to be about two acres 
in extent — rather a large plot, but he proposed to 
set his rows of almost every vegetable far enough 
apart to be worked with a horse cultivator. 

Some crops — for instance onions, carrots, and 
other fine stuff ” — ^must be weeded by hand to an 
extent, and if the soil is rich enough rows twelve 
or fifteen inches apart show better results. 

Between such rows a wheelhoe can be used to 
good advantage, and that was one tool — with a 
seed-sowing combination — that Hiram had told 
Mrs. Atterson she must buy if he was to practically 
attend to the whole farm for her. Hand-hoeing, 
in both field and garden crops, is antediluvian: 

Thus, during this week and a half of preparation, 
Hiram made ready for the uprooting of Mrs. At- 
terson from the boarding house in Crawberry to the 
farm some distance out of Scoville. 


The Uprooting 107 

The good lady had but one wagon load of goods 
to be transferred from her old quarters to the new 
home. Many of the articles she brought were heir- 
looms which she had stored in the boarding house 
cellar, or articles associated with her happy married 
life, which had been shortened by her husband’s 
death when he was comparatively a young man. 

These Mrs. Atterson saw piled on the wagon 
early on Saturday morning, and she had insisted 
upon climbing upon the seat beside the driver her- 
self and riding with him all the way. 

The boarders gathered on the steps to see her go. 
The two spinster ladies had already taken posses- 
sion, and had served breakfast to the disgruntled 
members of Mother Atterson’s family. 

“ You’ll be back again,” prophesied Mr. Crackit, 
shaking the old lady by the hand. “ And when you 
do, just let me know. I’ll come and board with 
you.” 

I wouldn’t have you in my house again, Fred 
Crackit, for two farms,” declared the ex-boarding 
house keeper, with asperity. 

“ I hope you told these people about my hot 
water, Mrs. Atterson,” croaked Mr. Peebles, from 
the step, where 'he stood muffled in a shawl because 
of the raw morning air. 

“ If I didn’t you can tell ’em yourself,” returned 
she, with satisfaction. 

And so it went — the good-byes of these unappre- 


io8 Hiram the Young Farmer 

ciative boarders selfish to the last! Mother Atter- 
son sighed — a long, happy, and satisfying sigh — 
Avhen the lumbering wagon turned the first corner. 

‘‘ Thanks be ! ” she murmured. I sha’n’t care 
if they don’t have a driblet of gravy at supper to- 
night.” 

Then she shook herself and stared straight ahead. 
On the very next corner — she had insisted that none 
of the other people at the house should observe 
their flitting — stood two figures, both forlorn. 

Old Lem Camp, with a lean suit-case at his feet, 
and Sister with a bulging carpetbag which she had 
brought with her months before from the charity 
institution, and into which she had stuffed every- 
thing she owned in the world. 

Their faces brightened perceptibly when they be- 
held Mrs. Atterson perched high beside the driver 
on the load of furniture and bedding. The driver 
drew in his span of big horses and the wheels 
grated against the curb. 

‘‘ You climb right in behind, Mr. Camp,” said the 
good lady. ‘‘There’s room for you up under the 
canvas top — and I had him spread a mattress so’t 
you can take it easy all the way, if you like. 

“ Sister, you scramble up here and sit in betwixt 
me and this man. And do look out — you’re spillin’ 
things out o’ that bag like it was a Christmas corn- 
ucopia. Come on, now! Toss it behind us, onto 
them other things. There! we’ll go on — and no 
more stops, I hope, till we reach the farm.” 


The Uprooting 109 

But that couldn’t be. It was a long drive, and 
the man was good to his team. He rested them at 
the top of every hill, and sometimes at the bottom. 
They had to stop two hours for dinner and to 
“ breathe ’em,” as the man said. 

At that time Mother Atterson produced a good- 
sized market basket — her familiar companion when 
she had hunted bargains in the city — and it was 
filled with sandwiches, and pickles, and crackers, 
and cookies, and a whole boiled fowl (fowl were 
cheaper and more satisfying than the scrawny 
chickens then 'in market) and hard-boiled eggs, and 
cheese, with numbers of other less important eat- 
ables tucked into corners of the basket to '' wedge ” 
the larger packages of food. 

The four picnicked in the sun, with the furniture 
wagon to break the keen wind, passing around hot 
coffee in a can, from hand to hand, the driver hav- 
ing built a campfire to heat the coffee beside the 
country road. 

But after that stop — for they were well into the 
country now — there was no* keeping Sister on the 
wagon-seat. She had learned to drop down and 
mount again as lively as a cricket. 

She tore along the edge of the road, with her 
hair flying, and her hat hanging by its ribbons. She 
chased a rabbit, and squirrels, and picked certain 
green branches, and managed to get her hands and 
the front of her dress all ‘‘ stuck up ” with spruce 
gum in trying to get a piece big enough to chew. 


I lO 


Hiram the Young Farmer 

Drat the young’un ! ’’ exclaimed Mother Atter- 
son. I can see plainly I’d never ought to brought 
her, but should have sent her back to the institution. 
She’ll be as wild as Mr. March’s hare — whoever he 
was — out here in the country.” 

But Old Lem Camp gave her no trouble. He ef- 
faced himself just as he had at the boarding house 
supper table. He seldom spoke — never unless he 
was spoken to ; and he lay up under the roof of the 
furniture wagon, whether asleep, or no, Mrs. Atter- 
son could not tell. 

He’s as odd as Dick’s hat-band,” the ex-board- 
ing house mistress confided to the driver. But, 
bless you! the easiest critter to get along with— 
you never saw his beat. If I’d a house full of Lem 
Camps to cook for. I’d think I was next door to 
heaven.” 

It was dusk when they arrived in sight of the 
little house beside the road in which Uncle Jeptha 
Atterson had lived out his long life. Hiram had a 
good fire going in both the kitchen and sitting 
room, and the lamplight flung through the windows 
made the place look cheerful indeed to the travelers. 

“ My soul and body I ” croaked the good lady, 
when she got down from the wagon and Hiram 
caught her in his arms to save her from a fall. 

I’m as stiff as a poker — and that’s a fact. But 
I’m glad to get here.” 

Hiram’s amazement when he saw Sister and Old 


The uprooting in 

Lem Camp was only expressed in his look. He said 
nothing. The driver of the wagon backed it to the 
porch step and then took out his team and, with 
Hiram’s help, led them to the stable, fed them, and 
bedded them down for the night. He was to sleep 
in one of the spare beds and go back to town the 
following day. 

Mother Atterson took off her best dress, slipped 
into a familiar old gingham and bustled around the 
kitchen as naturally as though she had been there 
all her life. 

She fried ham and eggs, and made biscuit, and 
opened a couple of tins of peaches she had brought, 
and finally set before them a repast satisfying if 
not dainty, and seasoned with a cheerful spirit at 
least. 

I vum ! ” she exclaimed, sitting down for the 
first time in years “ at the first table.” ‘Hf this 
don’t beat Crawberry and them boarders. I’m crazy 
as a loon. Pour the coffee. Sister — and don’t be 
stingy with the milk. Milk’s only five cents a quart 
here, and it’s eight in town. But, gracious, child! 
sugar don’t cost no less.” 

Old Lem Camp sat beside Hiram, as he had at 
the boarding-house table. He had scarcely spoken 
since his arrival; but now, under cover of the talk 
of Mother Atterson, the driver of theHurniture van, 
and Sister, he began one of his old-time mono- 
logues : 


II2 


Hiram the Young Farmer 

“ Old, old — nothing to look forward to — then 
the prospect opens up — just like light breaking 
through the clouds after a storm — let’s see; I want 
a piece of bread — ^bread’s on Sister’s side — I can 
reach it — hum! no Crackit to-njght — fool jokes — 
silly fellow — ah! the butter — Where’s the butter- 
knife? — Sister’s forgotten the butter-knife — no! 
here ’tis — That woman’s an angel — nothing less — 
an angel in a last season’s bonnet and a shabby 
gown — Hah! practical angels couldn’t use wings — 
they’d be in the way in the kitchen — ^ham and 
eggs — gravy — fit for gods to eat — and not to worry 
again where next week’s victuals are to come 
from ! ” 

Hiram noted all the old man said, and the last 
phrase enlightened him immensely as to why Old 
Lem Camp was so queer.” That was the trouble 
on the old man’s mind — the trouble that had stifled 
him, and made him appear “ half cracked ” as the 
boarding-house jester and Peebles had said. 

Lem Camp, too old to ever get another job in the 
city, had for five years been worrying from day 
to day about his bare existence. And evidently he 
saw that bogie of the superannuated disappearing in 
the distance. 

After the truck driver had gone to bed, and 
Camp himself, and Sister had fallen asleep over 
the last of the dish-wiping, Mother Atterson con- 
fided in Hiram, to a degree. 


The Uprooting 1 13 

‘‘ Now, this gal can be made useful. She can help 
me in the house, and she can help outside, too. 

‘‘ She's a poor, unfortunate creature I know — 
and humbly is no name for her looks ! But mebbe 
we can send her to the school nearby, and she ought 
to get some color in her face if she’s out o’ doors 
some — and some flesh on her skinny body. 

‘‘ I don’t know as I could get along without Sis- 
ter,” ruminated Mother Atterson, shaking her 
head. 

“ And as for Lem Camp — ^bless you ! he won’t eat 
more’n a fly, and who else would give him house- 
room? Why, Hiram, I just had to bring him with 
me. If I hadn’t, I’d felt just as conscience-stricken 
as though I’d moved and left a cat behind in an 
empty house ! ” 


CHAPTER XIV 


GETTING IN THE EARLY CROPS 

Mother Atterson had breakfast the next morn- 
ing by lamplight, because the truckman wanted to 
make an early start. 

Hiram had already begun early rising, however, 
for the farmer who does not get up before the sun 
in the spring needs must do his chores at night by 
lantern-light. The eight-hour law can never be a 
rule on the farm. 

But Sister was up, too, and out of the house, 
running as wild as a rabbit. Hiram caught her in 
the barnyard trying to clamber on the cow’s back to 
ride her about the enclosure. Sister was afraid of 
nothing that lived and walked, having all the cour- 
age of ignorance. 

She found that she could not in safety clamber 
over the pig-lot fence and catch one of the shoats. 
Old Mother Hog ran at her with open mouth and 
Sister came back from that expedition with a torn 
frock and some new experience. 

“ I never knew anything so fat could run,” she 


Getting in the Early Crops 115 

confided to Hiram. Old Missus Poundly, who 
lived on our block, and weighed three hundred 
pounds, couldn’t run, I bet ! ” 

Mr. Camp was not disturbed by Mrs. Atterson, 
but was allowed to sleep as long as he liked, while 
she kept a little breakfast hot for him and the coffee- 
pot on the back of the stove. 

The old lady became interested at once in all 
Hiram had done toward beginning the spring work. 
She learned about the seed in the window boxes 
(some of them were already breaking the soil) 
about watering them and covering them properly, 
and immediately took those duties off Hiram’s 
hands. 

‘‘If Sister an’ me can’t do the light chores 
around this place and leave you to ’tend to the big- 
ger things, then we ain’t no good and had better go 
back to the boarding house,” she announced. 

“ Oh, Mis’ Atterson ! You wouldn’t go back to 
town, would you ? ” pleaded Sister. “ Why, there’s 
real hens — and a cow that will give milk bimeby. 
Hi says — and a horse that wiggles his ears and 
talks right out loud when he’s hungry, for I heard 
him — and pigs that squeal and run, an’ they’re jest 
as fat as butter ” 

“Well, to stay here we’ve all got to work. Sis- 
ter,” declared her mistress. “ So get at them dishes 
now and be quick about it. There’s forty times 
more chores to do here than there was back in 


ii6 Hiram the Young Farmer 

Crawberry — But, thanks be! there ain’t no gravy 
to worry about.” 

‘‘ And there ain’t no boarders to make fun of me,” 
said Sister, thoughtfully. Then, she announced, 
after some rumination : “ I like pigs better than I 

do boarders. Mis’ Atterson.” 

‘‘ Well, I should think you would ! ” exclaimed 
that lady, tartly. ‘‘ Pigs has got some sense.” 

Hiram laughed at this. “ You’ll find the pigs de- 
manding gravy, just the same — and very urgent 
about it they are, too,” he told them. 

But he was glad to give the small chores over 
into their hands, and went to work immediately to 
prepare for putting in the early crops. 

He had already cleared the rubbish off the piece 
of ground selected for the garden, and had burned 
it. He hauled out stable manure from the barn- 
yard and gave an acre and a half of this piece of 
land a good dressing. 

The other half-acre was for early potatoes, and 
he wished to put the manure in the furrow for 
them, so did not top dress that strip of land. The 
frost was pretty well out of the ground by now; 
but even if some remained, plowing this high, well- 
drained piece would do no harm. Beside, Hiram 
was eager to get in early crops. 

It was a still, hazy morning when he geared the 
old horse to the plow and headed him into the garden 
piece. He had determined to plow the entire plot 


Getting in the Early Crops 117 

at once, and instead of plowing ‘‘ around and 
around ’’ had paced off his lands and started in the 
middle, plowing gee ” instead of “ haw.” 

This system is a bit more particular, and hard for 
the careless plowman; but it overcomes that un- 
sightly “ dead-furrow ” in the middle of a field, 
and brings the finishing- furrow ” on the edge. 
This insures better surface drainage and is a more 
scientific method of tillage. 

The plow was rusty and the point was not in the 
very best condition; but after the first few rounds 
the share was cleaned off, and it began to slip 
through the moist earth and roll it over in a long, 
brown ribbon behind him. 

Hiram Strong clung to the plow handles, a rope- 
rein in each hand, and watched the plow and the 
horse and the land ahead with an eye as keen as 
that of a river-pilot. 

As the strip of turned earth grew wider and 
longer Sister ran out to see him work. She watched 
the plow turn the mulch into the furrow and lay the 
brown, greasy mold upon it, with wide-open eyes. 

“Why!” cried she, “wouldn’t it be nice if we 
could go right along with a plow and bury our past 
like that — cover everything mean and nasty up, 
and forget it! That institution they put me in — 
and the old woman I lived with before that, who 
drank so much gin and beat me — and the boarders — 
and that boy who used to pull my braids whenever 
he met me — My that would be fine ! ” 


ii8 Hiram the Young Farmer 

I reckon that is what Life does do for us/’ re- 
turned Hiram, thoughtfully, stopping at the end of 
the furrow to mop his brow and let the old 
horse breathe. “Yes, sir! Life plows all the ex- 
perience under, and it ought to enrich our future 
existence, just as this stuff I’m plowing under here 
will decay and enrich the soil.” 

“ But the plow don’t turn it quite under in spots,” 
said Sister, with a sigh. “ Leastways, I can’t help 
remembering the bad things once in a while.” 

There were certain other individuals who found 
out very soon that Hiram was plowing, too. Those 
were the hens. There were not more than fifteen 
or twenty of the scrubby creatures, and they began 
to follow the plow and pick up grubs and worms. 

“ I tell you one thing that I’ve got to do before 
we put in much,” Hiram told the ex-boarding 
house mistress at noon. 

“ What’s that. Hi ? Don’t go very deep down 
into my pocket, for it won’t stand it. After paying 
my bills, and paying for moving out here, I ain’t 
got much money left — and that’s a fact I ” 

“ It won’t cost much, but we’ve got to have a yard 
for the hens. Hens and a garden will never mix 
successfully. Unless you enclose them you might 
as well have no garden in that spot where I’m plow- 
mg. 

“ There warn’t but five eggs to-day,” said Mrs. 
Atterson. “ Mebbe we’d better chop the heads off 
’em, one after the other, and eat ’em.” 


Getting in the Early Crops 119 

They’ll lay better as it grows warmer. That 
henhouse must be fixed before next winter. It’s 
too draughty,” said Hi. ‘‘ And then, hens can’t lay 
well — especially through the winter — if they haven’t 
the proper kind of food.” 

‘‘ But three or four of the dratted things want 
to stay on the nest all the time,” complained the old 
lady. 

If I was you, Mrs. Atterson,” Hiram said, 
soberly, '' I’d spend five dollars for a hundred eggs 
of well-bred stock. 

I’d set these hens as fast as they get broody, 
and raise a decent flock of biddies for next year. 
Scrub hens are just as bad as scrub cows. The 
scrubs will eat quite as much as full-bloods, yet the 
returns from the scrubs are much less.” 

I declare ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Atterson, a hen’s 
always been just a hen to me — one’s the same as 
another, exceptin’ the feathers on some is prettier.” 

‘‘ To-night I’ll show you some breeders’ catalogs 
and you can think the matter over as to what kind of 
a fowl you want,” said the young farmer. 

He went back to his job after dinner and kept 
steadily at work until three o’clock before there 
came a break. Then he saw a carriage drive into 
the yard, and a few moments later a man in a long 
gray coat came striding across the lot toward him. 

Hiram knew the gentleman at once — it was Mr. 
Bronson, the father of the girl he had saved from 


120 


Hiram the Young Farmer 

the runaway. To tell the truth, the boy had rather 
wondered about his non-appearance during the days 
that had elapsed. But now he came with hand held 
out, and his first words explained the seeming omis- 
sion : 

Tve been away for more than a week, my boy, 
or I should have seen you before. You’re Hiram 
Strong, aren’t you — the boy my little girl has been 
talking so much about ? ” 

“ I don’t know how much Miss Lettie has been 
talking about me,” laughed Hiram. ‘‘ Full and 
plenty, I expect.” 

‘‘ And small blame to her,” declared Mr. Bron- 
son. “ I won’t waste time telling you how grateful 
I am. I had just time to turn that boy of Dicker- 
son’s off before I was called away. Now, my lad, 
I want you to come and work for me.” 

Why, much as I might like to, sir, I couldn’t 
do that,” said Hiram. 

‘‘ Now, now ! we’ll fix it somehow. Lettie has 
set her heart on having you around the place. 

You’re the second young man I’ve been after 
whom I was sure would suit me, since we moved 
on to the old Fleigler place. The first fellow I 
can’t find; but don’t tell me that I am going to be 
disappointed in you, too.” 

Mr. Bronson,” said Hiram, gravely, ‘‘ I’m sorry 
to say ‘ No.’ A little while ago I’d have been de- 
lighted to take up with any fair offer you might 


I2I 


Getting in the Early Crops 

have made me. But I have agreed with Mrs. Atter- 
son to run her place for two seasons.” 

“Two years!” exclaimed Mr. Bronson. 

“ Yes, sir. Practically. I must put her on her 
feet and make the old farm show a profit.” 

“ You’re pretty young to take such responsibility 
upon your shoulders, are you not?” queried the 
gentleman, eyeing him curiously. 

“ I’m seventeen. I began to work with my father 
as soon as I could lift a hoe. I love farm work. 
And I’ve passed my word to stick to Mrs. Atterson.” 

“ That’s the old lady up to the house ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ But she wouldn’t hold you to your bargain if 
she saw you could better yourself, would she?” 

“ She would not have to,” Hiram said, firmly, and 
he began to feel a little disappointed in his caller. 
“ A bargain’s a bargain — there’s no backing out 
of it.” 

“ But suppose I should make it worth her while 
to give you up ? ” pursued Mr. Bronson. “ I’ll 
sound her a bit, eh? I tell you that Lettie has set 
her heart on having you, as we cannot find another 
chap whom we were looking for.” 

Now, Hiram knew that this referred to him; but 
he said nothing. Besides, he did not feel too greatly 
pleased that the strongest reason for Mr. Bronson’s 
wishing to hire him was his little daughter’s demand. 


122 Hiram the Young Farmer 

It was just a fancy of Miss Lettie’s. And. another 
day, she might have the fancy to turn him off. 

No, sir,” spoke Hiram, more firmly. It is 
useless. I am obliged to you; but I must stick by 
Mrs. Atterson.” 

'' Well, my lad,” said the Westerner, putting out 
his hand again. “ I am glad to see you know how 
to keep a promise, even if it isn’t to your ad- 
vantage. And I am grateful to you for turning 
that trick for my little girl the other day. 

“ I hope you’ll come over and see us — and I shall ^ 
watch your work here. Most of these fellows 
around here are pretty slovenly farmers in my esti- 
mation; I hope you will do better than the average.” 

He went back across the field and Hiram re- 
turned to his plowing. The young farmer saw the 
bay horses driven slowly out of the yard and along 
the road. 

He saw the flutter of a scarf from the carriage 
and knew that Lettie Bronson was with her father; 
but she did not look out at him as he toiled behind 
the old horse in the furrow. 

However, there was no feeling of disappointment 
in Hiram Strong’s mind — and this fact somewhat 
surprised him. He had been so attracted by the 
girl, and had wished in the beginning so much to be 
engaged by Mr. Bronson, that he had considered it 
a mighty disappointment when he had lost the 
Westerner’s card. 


123 


Getting in the Early Crops 

However, his apathy in the matter was easily ex- 
plained. He had taken hold of the work on the At- 
terson place. His plans were growing in his mind 
for the campaign before him. His interest was 
fastened upon the contract he had made with the 
old lady. 

His hand was, literally now, to the plow ” — 
and he was not looking back. 

He finished the piece that day, and likewise drew 
out some lime that he had bought at Scoville and 
spread it broadcast upon all the garden patch save 
that in which he intended to put potatoes. 

Although it is an exploded doctrine that the ap- 
plication of lime to potato ground causes scab, it 
is a fact that it will aid in spreading the disease. 
Hiram was sure enough — because of the sheep- 
sorrel on the piece — that it all needed sweetening, 
but he decided against the lime at this time. 

As soon as Hiram had drag-harrowed the piece 
he laid off two rows down the far end, as being 
less tempting to the straying hens, and planted 
early peas — the round-seeded variety, hardier than 
the wrinkled kinds. These pea-rows were thirty 
inches apart, and he dropped the peas by hand and 
planted them very thickly. 

It doesn’t pay to be niggardly with seed in put- 
ting in early peas, at any rate — the thicker they 
come up the better, and in these low bush varieties 
the thickly growing vines help support each other. 


124 Hiram the Young Farmer 

This garden piece — almost two acres — was oblong 
in shape. An acre is just about seventy paces 
square. Hiram’s garden was seventy by a hundred 
and forty paces, or thereabout. 

Therefore, the young farmer had two seventy- 
yard rows of peas, or over four hundred feet of 
drill. He planted two quarts of peas at a cost of 
seventy cents. 

With ordinary fortune the crop should be much 
more than sufficient for the needs of the house 
while the peas were in a green state, for being a 
quick growing vegetable, they are soon past. 

Hiram, however, proposed putting in a surplus 
of almost everything he planted in this big gar- 
den — especially of the early vegetables — for he be- 
lieved that there would be a market for them in 
Scoville. 

The ground was very cold yet, and snow flurries 
swept over the field every few days; but the peas 
were under cover and were ofit his mind; Hiram 
knew they would be ready to pop up above the sur- 
face just as soon as the warm weather came in 
earnest, and peas do not easily rot in the ground. 

In two weeks, or when the weather was settled, 
he proposed planting other kinds of peas alongside 
these first two rows, so as to have a succession up 
to mid-summer. ^ 

Next the young farmer laid off his furrows for 
early potatoes. He had bought a sack of an extra- 


Getting in the Early Crops 125 

early variety, yet a potato that, if left in the ground 
the full length of the season, Avould make a good 
winter variety — a “ long keeper.” 

His potato rows he planned to have three feet 
apart, and he plowed the furrows twice, so as to 
have them clean and deep. 

Henry Pollock happened to come by while he 
was doing this, and stopped to talk and watch 
Hiram. To .tell the truth, Henry and his folks 
were more than a little interested in what the young 
farmer would do with the Atterson place. 

Like other neighbors they doubted if the stranger 
knew as much about the practical work of farming 
as he claimed to know. ‘‘ That feller from the city,” 
the neighbors called Hiram behind his back, and that 
is an expression that completely condemns a man 
in the mind of the average countryman. 

“ What yer bein’ so particular with them furrers 
for, Hiram? ” asked Henry. 

'Hf a job’s worth doing at all, it’s worth doing 
well, isn’t it ? ” laughed the young farmer. 

We spread our manure broadcast — when we 
use any at all — for potatoes,” said Henry, slowly. 
‘‘ Dad says if manure comes in contact with potatoes, 
they are apt to rot.” 

That seems to be a general opinion,” replied 
Hiram. “ And it may be so under certain condi- 
tions. For that reason I am going to make sure 
that not much of this fertilizer comes in direct con- 
tact with my seed.” 


126 Hiram the Young Farmer 

‘‘ How’ll you do that? ” 

I’ll show you,” said Hiram. 

Having run out his rows and covered the bottom 
of each furrow several inches deep with the manure, 
he ran his plow down one side of each furrow and 
turned the soil back upon the fertilizer, covering 
it and leaving a well pulverized seed bed for the 
potatoes to lie in. 

Well,” said Henry, ‘‘ that’s a good wrinkle, 
too.” 

Hiram had purchased some formalin, mixed it 
with water according to the Government expert’s 
instructions, and from time to time soaked his seed 
potatoes two hours in the antiseptic bath. In the 
evening he brought them into the kitchen and they 
all — even Old Lem Camp — cut up the potatoes, 
leaving two or three good eyes in each piece. 

“ I’d ruther do this than peel ’em for the 
boarders,” remarked Sister, looking at her deeply- 
stained fingers reflectively. “ And then, nobody 
won’t say nothin’ about my hands to me when I’m 
passin’ dishes at the table.” 

The following day she helped Hiram drop the 
seed, and by night he had covered them by running 
his plow down the other side of the row and then 
smoothed the potato plat with a home-made 
‘‘ board ” in lieu of a land-roller. 

It was the twentieth of March, and not a farmer 
in the locality had yet put in either potatoes, or peas. 


127 


Getting in the Early Crops 

Some had not as yet plowed for early potatoes, and 
Henry Pollock warned Hiram that he was ‘‘ rush- 
ing the season/’ 

“ That may be,” declared the young farmer to 
Mrs. Atterson. ‘‘ But I believe the risk is worth tak- 
ing. If we do get ’em good, we’ll get ’em early and 
skim the cream of the local market. Now', you 
see!” 


CHAPTER XV 


TROUBLE BREWS 

Old Lem Camp,” as he had been called for so 
many years that there seemed no disrespect in the 
title, was waking up. Not many mornings was he 
a lie-abed. And the lines in his forehead seemed to 
be smoothing out, and his eyes had lost something 
of their dullness. 

It was true that, at first, he wandered about the 
farmstead muttering to himself in his old way — an 
endless monologue which was a jumble of comment, 
gratitude, and the brief memories of other days. 
It took some time to adjust his poor mind to the 
fact that he had no longer to fear that Poverty 
which had stalked ever before him like a threatening 
spirit. 

Gratitude spurred him to the use of his hands. 
He was not a broken man — not bodily. Many light 
tasks soon fell to his share, and Mrs. Atterson told 
Hiram and Sister to let him do what he would. To 
busy himself would be the best thing in the world 
for the old fellow. 

“ That’s what’s been the matter with Mr. Camp 
for years,” she declared, with conviction. ‘‘ Be- 
128 


Trouble Brews 


129 


cause he passed the sixty-year mark, and it was 
against the practise of the paper company to keep 
employes on the payroll over that age, they turned 
Lem Camp off. 

Ridiculous ! He was just as well able to do 
the tasks that he had learned to do mechanically as 
he had been any time for the previous twenty years. 
He had worked in that office forty years, and more, 
you understand. 

That’s the worst thing about a corporation of 
that kind — it has no thought beyond its ‘ rules.’ 
Old Mr. Bundy remembered Lem — that’s all. If he 
hadn’t so much stock in the concern they’d turn him 
off, too. I expect he knows it and that’s what 
softened his heart to Old Lem. 

“ Now, let Lem take hold of whatever he can do, 
and git interested in it,” declared the practical Mrs. 
Atterson, “ and he’ll show you that there’s work 
left in him yet. Yes-sir-ree-sir ! And if he’ll work 
in the open air, all the better for him.” 

There was plenty for everybody to do, and Hiram 
would not say the old man nay. The seed boxes 
needed a good deal of attention, for they were to 
be lifted out into the air on warm days, and placed 
in the sun. And Old Lem could do this — and stir 
the soil in them, and pull out the grass and other 
weeds that started. 

Hiram had planted early cabbage and cauliflower 
and egg-plant in other boxes, and the beets were 


130 Hiram the Young Farmer 

almost big enough to transplant to the open ground. 
Beets are hardy and although hair-roots are apt 
to form on transplanted garden beets, the trans- 
planting aids the growth in other ways and Hiram 
expected to have table-beets very early. 

In the garden itself he had already run out two 
rows of later beets, the width of the plot. Bunched 
beets will sell for a fair price the whole season 
through. 

Hiram was giving his whole heart and soul to 
the work — he was wrapped up in the effort to make 
the farm pay. And for good reason. 

It was ‘‘up to him ’’ to not alone turn a profit 
for his employer, and himself; but he desired — oh, 
how strongly! — to show the city folk who had 
sneered at him that he could be a success in the 
right environment. 

Besides, and in addition, Hiram Strong was am- 
bitious — very ambitious indeed for a youth of his 
age. He wanted to own a farm of his own in 
time — and it was no “ one-horse farm ” he aimed at. 

No, indeed! Hiram had read of the scientific 
farming of the Middle West, and the enormous 
tracts in the Northwest devoted to grain and other 
staple crops, where the work was done for the most 
part by machinery. 

He longed to see all this — and to take part in it. 
He desired the big things in farming, nor would he 
ever be content to remain a helper. 


Trouble Brews 


131 

Fm going to be my own boss, some day — and 
I’m going to boss other men. Fll show these fel- 
lows around here that I know what I want, and 
when I get it Fll handle it right ! ” Hiram so- 
liloquized. 

It’s up to me to save every cent I can. Henry 
thinks Fm niggardly, I expect, because I wouldn’t 
go to town Saturday night with him. But I haven’t 
any money to waste. 

“ The hundred Fm to get next Christmas from 
Mrs. Atterson I don’t wish to draw on at all. Fll 
get along with such old clothes as I’ve got.” 

Hiram was not naturally a miser; he frequently 
bought some little thing for Sister when he went 
to town — a hair-ribbon, or the like, which he knew 
would please the girl; but for himself he was de- 
termined to be saving. 

At the end of his contract with Mrs. Atterson 
he would have two hundred dollars anyway. But 
that was not the end and aim of Hiram Strong’s 
hopes. 

‘‘ It’s the clause in our agreement about the profits 
of our second season that is my bright and shining 
star,” he told the good lady more than once. ‘‘ I 
don’t know yet what we had better put in next year 
to bring us a fortune ; but we’ll know before it comes 
time to plant it.” 

Meanwhile the wheel-hoe and seeder he had in- 
sisted upon Mrs. Atterson buying had arrived, and 


132 Hiram the Young Farmer 

Hiram, after studying the instructions which came 
with it, set the machine up as a seed-sower. Later, 
after the bulk of the seeds were in the ground, he 
would take off the seeding attachment and bolt on 
the hoe, or cultivator attachments, with w^hich to stir 
the soil between the narrower rows of vegetables. 

As he made ready to plant seeds such as carrot, 
parsnip, onion, salsify, and leaf-beet, as well as 
spring spinach, early turnips, radishes and kohl- 
rabi, Hiram worked that part of his plowed land 
over again and again with the spike harrow, finally 
boarding the strips down smoothly as he wished 
to plant them. The seedbed must be as level as a 
floor, and compact, for good use to be made of the 
wheel-seeder. 

When he had lined out one row with his garden 
line, from side to side of the plowed strip, the mark- 
ing arrangement attached to his seeder would mark 
the following lines plainly, and at just the distance 
he desired. 

Onions, carrots, and the like, he put in fifteen 
inches apart, intending to do all the cultivating of 
those extremely small plants with the wheel-hoe, 
after they were large enough. But he foresaw the 
many hours of cultivating before him and marked 
the rows for the bulk of the vegetables far enough 
apart, as he had first intended, to make possible the 
use of the horse-hoe. 

Meanwhile he spike-harrowed the potato patch. 


Trouble Brews 


133 


running cross-wise of the rows to break the crust 
and keep down the quick-springing weed seeds. The 
early peas were already above ground and when they 
were two inches high Hiram ran his 14- tooth culti- 
vator — or “ seed harrow ” as it is called in some 
localities — close to the rows so as to throw the soil 
toward the plants, almost burying them from sight 
again. This was to give the peas deep rootage, 
which is a point necessary for the quick and stable 
growth of this vegetable. 

In odd moments Hiram had cut and set a few 
posts, bought poultry netting in Scoville, and en- 
closed Mrs. Atterson’s chicken- run. She had taken 
his advice and sent for eggs, and already had four 
hens setting and expected to set the remainder of the 
eggs in a few days. 

Sister took an enormous interest in this poultry- 
raising venture. She “ counted chickens before they 
were hatched with a vengeance, and after reading 
a few of the poultry catalogs she figured out that, 
in three years, from the increase of Mother Atter- 
son’s hundred eggs, the eighty-acre farm would 
not be large enough to contain the flock. 

‘‘ And all from five dollars ! ” gasped Sister. “ I 
don’t see why everybody doesn’t go to raising 
chickens — then there’d be no poor folks, everybody 
would be rich — Well ! I expect there’d always have 
to be institutions for orphans — and boarding 
houses ! ” 


134 Hiram the Young Farmer 

The new-springing things from the ground, the 
“ hen industry ” and the repairing and beautifying 
of the outside of the farmhouse did not take up all 
their attention. There were serious matters to be 
discussed in the evening, after the others had gone 
to bed, ’twixt Hiram and his employer. 

There was the five or six acres of bottom land — 
the richest piece of soil of the entire eighty. Hiram 
had not forgotten this, and the second Sunday of 
their stay at the farm, after the whole family had 
attended service at a chapel less than half a mile 
up the road, he had urged Mrs. Atterson to walk 
with him through the timber to the riverside. 

For the Land o’ Goshen ! ” the ex-boarding 
house mistress had finally exclaimed. ‘‘ To think 
that I own all of this. Why, Hi, it don’t seem as if 
it was so. I can’t get used to it. And this timber, 
you say, is all worth money? And if I cut it off, it 
will grow up again ” 

‘‘ In thirty to forty years the pine will be worth 
cutting again — and some of the other trees,” said 
Hiram, with a smile. 

Well ! that would be something for Sister to 
look forward to,” said the old lady, evidently think- 
ing aloud. ‘‘ And I don’t expect her folks — who- 
ever they be — will ever look her up now, Hiram.” 

But with the timber cut and this side hill cleared, 
you would have a very valuable thirty acres, or so, 
of tillage — valuable for almost any crop, and early, 


Trouble Brews 


135 

too, for it slopes toward the sun,” said the young 
farmer, ignoring the other’s observation. 

'‘Well, well! it’s wonderful,” returned Mrs. At- 
terson. 

But she listened attentively to what he had to say 
about clearing the bottom land, which was a much 
more easily accomplished task, as Hiram showed 
her. It would cost something to put the land into 
shape for late corn, and so prepare it for some more 
valuable crop the following season. 

“Well, nothing' ventured, nothing have!” Mrs. 
Atterson finally agreed. “ Go ahead — if it won’t 
cost much more than what you say to get the corn 
in. I understand it’s a gamble, and I’m taking a 
gambler’s chance. If the river rises and floods the 
corn in June, or July, then we get nothing this sea- 
son?” 

“'That is a possibility,” admitted Hiram. 

“ Go ahead,” exclaimed Mother Atterson. “ I 
never did know that there was sporting blood in 
me; but I kinder feel it risin’. Hi, with the sap in 
the trees. We’ll chance it ! ” 

Occasionally Hiram had stepped down to the pas- 
ture and squinted across to the water-hole. The 
grass was not long enough yet to turn the cow into 
the field, so he was obliged to make these special 
trips to the pasture. 

He had seen nothing of the Dickersons — to speak 
to, that is — since his trouble with Pete. And, of a 


136 Hiram the Young Farmer 

sudden, just before dinner one noon, Hiram took a 
look at the pasture and beheld a figure seemingly 
working down in the corner. 

Hiram ran swiftly in that direction. Half-way 
there he saw that it was Pete, and that he had de- 
liberately cut out a panel of the fence and was let- 
ting a pair of horses he had been plowing with, 
drink at the pool, before he took them home to the 
Dickerson stable. 

Hiram stopped running and recovered his breath 
before he reached the lower corner of the pasture. 
Pete saw him coming, and grinned impudently at 
him. 

What are you doing here, Dickerson ? ’’ de- 
manded the young farmer, indignantly. 

“ Well, if you wanter keep us out, you’d better 
keep up your fences better,” returned Pete. “ I 
seen the wires down, and it’s handy ” 

You cut those wires ! ” interrupted Hiram, an- 
grily. 

‘‘ You’re another,” drawled Pete, but grinning in 
a way to exasperate the young farmer. 

“ I know you did so.” 

Wal, if you know so much, what are you going 
to do about it?” demanded the other. “I guess 
you’ll find that these wires will snap ’bout as fast 
as you can mend ’em. Now, you can put that in 
your pipe an’ smoke it ! ” 

“ But I don’t smoke,” Hiram observed, growing 


Trouble Brews 


137 

calm immediately. There was no use in giving this 
lout the advantage of showing anger with him. 

“Mr. Smartie!” snarled Pete Dickerson. 
“ Now, you see, there’s somebody just as smart as 
you be. These horses have drunk there, and they’re 
going to drink again.” 

“ Is that your father yonder? ” demanded Hiram, 
shortly. 

“ Yes, it is.” 

“ Call him over here.” 

“ Why, if he comes over here, he’ll eat you 
alive!” cried Pete, laughing. “You don’t know 
my dad.” 

“ I don’t ; but I want to,” Hiram said, calmly. 
“ That’s why you’d better call him over. I have got 
pretty well acquainted with you, and the rest of 
your family can’t be any worse, as I look at it. 
Call him over,” and the young farmer stepped nearer 
to the lout. 

“ You call him yourself ! ” cried Pete, beginning 
to back away, for he remembered how he had been 
treated at his previous encounter with Hiram. 

Hiram seized the bridles of the work horses, 
and shook them out of Pete’s clutch. 

“ Tell your father to come here,” commanded the 
young farmer, fire in his eyes. “ We’ll settle this 
thing here and now. 

“ These horses are on Mrs. Atterson’s land. I 
know the county stock law as well as you do. You 
cut this; fence, and your cattle are on her ground. 


138 Hiram the Young Farmer 

“ It will cost you a dollar a head to get them off 
again — 4f Mrs. Atterson wishes to demand it. Now, 
call your father.” 

Pete raised a yell which startled the long-legged 
man striding over the hill toward the Dickerson 
farmhouse. Hiram saw the older Dickerson turn, 
stare, and then start toward them. 

Pete continued to beckon, and began to yell : 

“ Dad ! Dad ! He won’t let me have the bosses ! ” 

Sam Dickerson came striding down to the water- 
hole — a lean, long, sour-looking man he was, with 
a brown face knotted into a continual scowl, and 
hard, bony hands. Yet Hiram was not afraid of 
him. 

What’s the trouble here?” growled the farmer. 

He’s got the bosses. I told you the fence was 
down and I was goin’ to water ’em ” 

Shut up ! ” commanded his father, eyeing 
Hiram. “ I’m talking to this fellow : What’s the 
trouble here?” 

Your horses are on Mrs. Atterson’s land,” 
Hiram said, quietly. You know that stock which 
strays can be held for a dollar a head — damage or 
no damage to crops. I warn you, keep your horses 
on your own land.” 

'‘That’s your fence; if you don’t keep it up, 
who’s fault is it if my horses get on your land?” 
growled Dickerson, evidently making the matter a 
personal one with Hiram. 


Trouble Brews 


139 


‘‘ Your boy here cut the wires.” 

‘‘No I didn’t, Dad!” interposed Pete. 

Quick as a flash Hiram dropped the bridle reins, 
sprang for Pete, seized him in a wrestler’s grip, 
twisted him around, and tore from his pocket a pair 
of heavy wire-cutters. 

“ What were you doing with these in your pocket, 
then?” demanded Hiram, disdainfully, tossing the 
plyers upon the ground at Pete’s feet, and stepping 
back to keep the restless horses from leaving the 
edge of the water-hole. 

Sam Dickerson seemed to take a grim pleasure in 
his son’s overthrow. He growled : 

“ He’s got you there, Pete. You’d better stop 
monkeyin’ around here. Pick up them bridles and 
come on.” 

He turned to depart without another word to 
Hiram; but the latter did not propose to be put off 
that way. 

“ Hold on ! ” he called. “ Who’s going to mend 
this fence, Mr. Dickerson ? ” 

Dickerson turned and eyed him coldly again. 

“ What’s that to me ? Mend your own fence,” 
he said. 

“ Then I shall take these horses up to our barn. 
You can come and settle the matter with Mrs. At- 
terson — unless you wish to pay me two dollars here 
and now,” said the young farmer, his voice carry- 
ing clearly to where the man stood upon the rising 
ground above him. 


140 Hiram the Young Farmer 

Why, you young whelp ! ” roared Dickerson, 
suddenly starting down the slope. 

But Hiram Strong neither moved nor showed 
fear. Somehow, this sturdy young fellow, in the 
high laced boots, with his flannel shirt open at the 
throat, raw as was the day, his sleeves rolled back 
to his elbows, was a figure to make even a more 
muscular man than Sam Dickerson hesitate. 

“ Pete ! ” exclaimed the farmer, harshly, still eye- 
ing Hiram. Run up to the house and bring my 
shot-gun. Be quick about it.” 

Hiram said never a word, and the horses, yoked 
together, began to crop the short grass springing 
upon the bank of the water-hole. 

‘‘You’ll find out you’re fooling with the wrong 
man, you whippersnapper ! ” promised Dickerson. 

“ You can pay me two dollars and I’ll mend the 
fence; or you can mend the fence and we’ll call it 
square,” said Hiram, slowly, and evenly. “ I’m a 
boy, but I’m not to be frightened with a threat ” 

Pete’s long legs brought him flying back across 
the fields. Nothing he had done in a long while 
pleased him quite as much as this errand. 

Hiram turned, jerked at the horses’ bridle-reins, 
turned them around, and with a sharp slap on the 
nigh one’s flank, sent them both trotting up into the 
Atterson pasture. 

“ Stop that, you rascal ! ” cried Dickerson, grab- 
bing the gun from his hopeful son, and losing his 
head now entirely. “ Bring that team back ! ” 



Hiram leaped upon him, seized the shot gun, and 

wrenched it from his hands. [See page 14 1] 




Trouble Brews 


141 

'' You mend the fence, and I will,” declared 
Hiram, unshaken. 

The angry man sprang down to his level, flour- 
ishing the gun in a way that would have been dan- 
gerous indeed had Hiram believed it to be loaded. 
And as it was, the young farmer was very angry. 

The right was on his side; if he allowed these 
Dickersons, father and son, to browbeat him this 
once, it would only lead to future trouble. 

This thing had to be settled right here and now. 
It would never do for Hiram to show fear. And 
if both of the long-legged Dickersons pitched upon 
him, of course, he would be no match for them. 

But Sam Dickerson stumbled and almost fell as 
he reached the edge of the water-hole, and before 
he could recover himself, Hiram leaped upon him, 
seized the shotgun, and wrenched it from his hands. 

He reversed the weapon in a flash, clubbed it, and 
raised it over his head with a threatening swing that 
made Pete yell from the top of the bank : 

'' Look out. Dad ! He’s a-goin’ ter swat yer ! ” 

Sam tried to scramble out of the way. But down 
came the gun butt with all the force of Hiram’s good 
muscle, and — the stock was splintered and the lock 
shattered upon the big stone that here cropped out 
of the bank. 

'' There’s your gun — what’s left of it,” panted the 
young farmer, tossing the broken weapon from 
him. Now, don’t you ever threaten me with a 
gun again, for if you do I’ll have you arrested. 


142 Hiram the Young Farmer 

‘‘ We’ve got to be neighbors, and we’ve got to get 
along in a neighborly manner. But I’m not going 
to allow you to take advantage of Mrs. Atterson, 
because she is a woman. 

‘‘ Now, Mr. Dickerson,” he added, as the man 
scrambled up, glaring at him evidently with more 
surprise than anger, “ if you’ll make Pete mend this 
fence, you can have your horses. Otherwise I’m 
going to ‘ pound ’ them according to the stock law 
of the county.” 

Pete,” said his father, briefly, “ go get your 
hammer and staples and mend this fence up as good 
as you found it.” 

And now,” said Hiram, I’m going home te 
gear the horse to the wagon, and I’ll drive over to 
your house, Mr. Dickerson. From time to time you 
have borrowed while Uncle Jeptha was alive quite a 
number of tools. I want them. I have made in- 
quiries and I know what tools they are. Just be 
prepared to put them into my wagon, will you ? ” 

He turned on his heel without further words and 
left the Dickersons to catch their horses, and to 
repair the fence — ^both of which they did promptly. 

Not only that, but when Hiram drove into the 
Dickerson dooryard an hour later he had no trouble 
about recovering the tools which the neighbor had 
borrowed and failed to return. 

Pete scowled at him and muttered uncompli- 
mentary remarks; but Sam phlegmatically smoked 


Trouble Brews 


143 

his pipe and sat watching the young farmer without 
any comment. 

“ And so, that much is accomplished,” ruminated 
Hiram, as he drove home. ‘‘ But Fm not sure 
whether hostilities are finished, or have just begun.” 


CHAPTER XV 


ONE SATURDAY AFTERNOON 

‘‘The old Atterson place’’ as it was called in 
the neighobrhood, began to take on a brisk appear- 
ance these days. Sister, with the help of Old Lem 
Camp, had long since raked the dooryard clean and 
burned the rubbish which is bound to gather during 
the winter. 

Years before there had been flower beds in front; 
but Uncle Jeptha had allowed the grass to over- 
run them. It was a month too early to think of 
planting many flowers ; but Hiram had bought some 
seeds, and he showed Sister how to prepare boxes 
for them in the sunny kitchen windows, along with 
the other plant boxes; and around the front porch 
he spaded up a strip, enriched it well, and almost 
,the first seeds put into the ground on the farrn were 
the sweet peas around this porch. Mother Atterson 
was very fond of these flowers and had always 
managed to coax some of them to grow even in the 
boarding-house back yard. 

At the side porch she proposed to have morning- 
glories and moon-flowers, while the beds in front 
144 


One Saturday Afternoon 145 

would be filled with those old-fashioned flowers 
which everybody loves. 

But if we can’t make our own flower-beds, we 
can go without them, Hi,” said the bustling old lady. 
“We mustn’t take you from your other work to 
spade beds for us. Every cat’s got to catch mice on 
this place, now I tell ye ! ” 

And Hiram certainly was busy enough these 
days. The early seeds were all in, however, and he 
had run the seed-harrow over the potato rows 
again, lengthwise, to keep the weeds out until the 
young plants should get a start. 

Despite the raw winds and frosts at night, the 
potatoes had come up well and, with the steadily 
warming wind and sun, would now begin to grow. 
Other farmers’ potatoes in the vicinity were not yet 
breaking the ground. 

Early on Monday morning Henry Pollock ap- 
peared with bush-axe and grubbing hoe, and Hiram 
shouldered similar tools and they started for the 
river bottom. It was so far from the house that 
Mrs. Atterson agreed to send their dinner to them. 

“ Father says he remembers seeing corn growing 
on this bottom,” said Henry, as they set to work, 
“ so high that the ears were as high up as a tall man. 
It’s splendid corn land — if it don’t get flooded out.” 

“ And does the river often over- run its banks? ” 
queried Hiram, anxiously. 

“ Pretty frequent. It hasn’t yet this year ; there 


146 Hiram the Young Farmer 

wasn’t much snow last winter, you see, and the early 
spring floods weren’t very high. But if we have 
a long wet spell, as we do have sometimes as late as 
July, you’ll see water here.” 

‘‘ That’s not very encouraging,” said Hiram. 
“ Not for corn prospects, at least.” 

‘‘ Well, corn’s our staple crop. You see, if you 
raise corn enough you’re sure of feed for your 
team. That’s the main point.” 

“ But people with bigger farms than they have 
around here can raise corn cheaper than we can. 
They use machinery in harvesting it, too. Why not 
raise a better paying crop, and buy the extra corn 
you may need ? ” 

Why,” responded Henry, shaking his head, 
“ nobody around here knows much about raising 
fancy crops. I read about ’em in the farm papers — 
oh, yes, we take papers — the cheap ones. There is a 
lot of information in ’em, I guess; but father don’t 
believe much that’s printed.” 

‘‘ Doesn’t believe much that’s printed ? ” repeated 
Hiram, curiously. 

Nope. He says it’s all lies, made up out of some 
man’s head. You see, we useter take books out of 
the Sunday School library, and we had story papers, 
too; and father used to read ’em as much as any- 
body. 

But one summer we had a summer boarder — 
a man that wrote things. He had one of these dinky 


One Saturday Afternoon 147 

little merchines with him that you play on like a 
piano, you know ” 

‘‘ A typewriter? ” suggested Hiram, with a smile. 

“ Yep. Well, he wrote stories. Father learnt as 
how all that stuff was just imaginary, and so he 
don't take no stock in printed stuff any more. 

‘‘ That man just sat down at that merchine, and 
rattled off a story that he got real money for. It 
didn't have to be true at all. 

‘‘ So father soured on it. And he says the stuff in 
the farm papers is just the same." 

I'm afraid that your father is mistaken there," 
said Hiram, hiding his amusement. Men who 
have spent years in studying agricultural conditions, 
and experimenting with soils, and seeds, and plants, 
and fertilizers, and all that, write what facts they 
have learned for our betterment. 

‘‘No trade in the world is so encouraged and 
aided by Governments, and by private corpora- 
tions, as the trade of farming. There is scarcely a 
State which does not have a special agricultural 
college in which there are winter courses for people 
who cannot give the open time of the year to prac- 
tical experiment on the college grounds. 

“ That is what you need in this locality, I guess," 
added Hiram. “ Some scientific farming." 

“ Book farming, father calls it,'' said Henry. 
“ And he says it's no good." 

“ Why don’t you save your money and take a 


148 Hiram the Young Farmer 

course next winter in some side line and so be able 
to show him that he’s wrong?” suggested Hiram. 
“ I want to do that myself after I have fulfilled 
my contract with Mrs. Atterson. 

I won’t be able to do so next winter, for I shall 
be on wages. You’re going to be a farmer, aren’t 
you ? ” 

I expect to. We’ve got a good farm as farms 
go around here. But it seems about all we can do 
to pay our fertilizer bills and get a living off it.” 

Then why don’t you go about fitting yourself 
for your job?” asked Hiram. ‘‘Be a good 
farmer — an up-to-date farmer. 

“ No fellow expects to be a machinist, or an elec- 
trician, or the like, without spending some time 
under good instructors. Most that I know about 
soils, and fertilizers, and plant development, and 
the like, I learned from my father, who kept abreast 
of the times by reading and experiment. 

“You can sturnble along, working at your trade 
of farming, and only half knowing it all your life; 
that’s what most farmers do, in fact. They are 
too lazy to take up the scientific side of it and 
learn why, 

“ That’s the point — learn why you do things 
that your father did, and his father did, and his 
father before him. There’s usually good reason 
why they did it — a scientific reason which some- 
body dug out by experiment ages ago; but you 
ought to be able to tell why” 


One Saturday Afternoon 149 

“ I suppose that’s so,” admitted Henry, as they 
worked on, side by side. “ But I don’t know what 
father would say if I sprung a college ^course on 
him! ” 

“ I’d find out,” returned Hiram, laughing. 
“ You’d better spend your money that way than 
for a horse and buggy. Thafs the highest ambition 
of most boys ‘in the country.” 

The labor of bushing and grubbing these acres 
of lowland was no light one. Hiram insisted that 
every stub and root be removed that a heavy plow 
could not tear out. They had made some progress 
by noon, however, when Sister came down with 
their dinner. 

Hiram built a campfire over which the coffee was 
re-heated, and the three ate together. Sister enjoy- 
ing the picnic to the full. She insisted on helping 
in the work by piling the brush and roots into heaps 
for burning, and she remained until mid-afternoon. 

‘‘ I like that Henry boy,” she confided to Hiram. 

He don’t pull my braids, or poke fun at me.” 

But Sister was developing and growing fast these 
days. She was putting on flesh and color showed 
in her cheeks. They were no longer hollow and 
sallow, and she ran like a colt — and was almost 
as wild. 

The work of clearing the bottom land could not 
be continued daily; but the boys got in three full 
days that week, and Saturday morning. Henry 


1^0 Hiram the Young Farmer 

did not wish to work on Saturday afternoon, for in 
this locality almost all the farmers knocked off 
work at noon Saturday and went to town. 

But when Henry shouldered his tools to go home 
at noon, Sister appeared as usual with the lunch, 
and she and Hiram cut fishing rods and planned- to 
have a real picnic. 

Trout and mullet were jumping in the pools 
under the bank; and they caught several before 
stopping to eat their own meal. The freshly caught 
fish were a fine addition to the repast. 

They went back to fishing after a while and 
caught enough for supper at the farmhouse. Just 
as they were reeling up their lines the silence of 
the place was disturbed by a strange sound. 

There’s a motorcycle coming ! ” cried Sister, 
jumping up and looking all around. 

There was a bend in the river below this bottom, 
and another above; so they could not see far in 
either direction unless they climbed to the high 
ground. For a minute Hiram could not tell in 
which direction the sound was coming ; but he knew 
the steady put-put-put must be the exhaust of a 
motor-boat. 

It soon poked its nose around the lower turn. 
It was a good-sized boat and instantly Hiram rec- 
ognized at least one person aboard. 

Miss Lettie Bronson, in a very pretty boating 
costume, was in the bow. There were half a dozen 


One Saturday Afternoon 15 1 

other girls with her — well dressed girls, who were 
evidently her friends from the St. Beris school at 
Scoville. 

“Oh, oh! what a pretty spot!” cried Lettie, on 
the instant. “ We’ll go ashore here and have our 
luncheon, girls.” 

She did not see Hiram and Sister for a moment; 
but the latter tugged at Hiram’s sleeve. 

“ I’ve seen that girl before,” she whispered. 
“ She came in the carriage with the man who spoke 
to you — you remember? She asked me if I had 
always lived in the country, and how I tore my 
frock.” 

“ Isn’t she pretty ? ” returned Hiram. 

“ Awfully. But I’m not sure that I like her yet.” 

Suddenly Lettie saw Hiram and the girl beside 
him. She started, flushed a little, and then gave 
Hiram a cool little nod and turned her gaze from 
him. Her manner showed that he was not “ down 
in her good books,” and the young fellow flushed in 
turn. 

“ I don’t know as we’d better try to make the 
bank here. Miss,” said the man who was directing 
the motor-boat. “ The current’s mighty sharp.” 

“ I want to land here,” said Lettie, decidedly. 
“ It’s the prettiest spot we’ve seen — isn’t it, girls ? ” 

Her friends agreed. Hiram, casting a quick eye 
over the ruffled surface of the river, saw that the 
man was right. How well the stream below was 


152 Hiram the Young Farmer 

fitted for motor-boating he did not know; but he 
was pretty sure that there were too many ledges 
just under the surface here to make it safe for the 
boat to go farther. 

“ I intend to land here — right by that big tree ! ” 
commanded Lettie Bronson, stamping her foot. 

“Well, I dunno,” drawled the man; and just 
then the bow of the boat swung around, was forced 
heavily down stream by the current, and slam it 
went against a reef ! 

The man shot off the engine instantly. The 
bow of the boat was lodged on the rock, and tip- 
tilted considerably. The girls screamed, and Lettie 
herself was almost thrown into the water, for she 
was standing. 


CHAPTER XVII 


MR. PEPPER APPEARS 

But Hiram noted again that Lettie Bronson did 
not display terror. While her friends were scream- 
ing and crying, she sat perfectly quiet, and for a 
minute said never a word. 

Can’t you back off?” Hi heard her ask the 
boatman. 

Not without lightening her, Miss. xA.nd she 
may have smashed a plank up there, too. I dunno.” 

The Western girl turned immediately to Hiram, 
who had now come to the bank’s edge. She smiled 
at him charmingly, and her eyes danced. She 
evidently appreciated the fact that the young farmer 
had her at a disadvantage — and she had meant to 
snub him. 

‘‘ I guess you’ll have to help me again, Mr. 
Strong,” she said. “ What will we do ? Can you 
push out a plank to us, or something?” 

“ I’m afraid not. Miss Bronson,” he returned. 
“ I could cut a pole and reach it to the boat; but 
you girls couldn’t walk ashore on it.” 

“ Oh, dear! have we got to wade? ” cried one of 
Lettie’s friends. 


153 


154 Hiram the Young Farmer 

‘‘ You can’t wade. It’s too deep between the 
shore and the boat,” Hiram said, calmly. 

“ Then — then we’ll stay here till the tide rises 
and dr-dr-drowns us! ” wailed another of the girls, 
giving way to sobs. 

Don’t be a goose, Myra Carroll I ” exclaimed 
Lettie. ‘Hf .you waited here for the tide to rise 
you’d be gray-haired and decrepit. The tide doesn’t 
rise here. But maybe a spring flood would wash 
you away.” 

At that the frightened one sobbed harder than 
ever. She was one of those who ever see the dark 
side of adventure. There was no hope on her 
horizon. 

“ I dunno what you can do for these girls,” said 
the man. “ I’d git out and push off the boat, but 
I don’t dare with them aboard.” 

But Hiram’s mind had not been inactive, if he 
was standing in seeming idleness. Sister tugged at 
his sleeve again and whispered: 

'' Have they got to stay there and drown. Hi? ” 

‘‘ I guess not,” he returned, slowly. ‘‘ Let’s 
see: this old sycamore leans right out over them. 
I can shin up there with the aid of the big grape- 
vine. Then, if I had a rope ” 

‘‘Shall I run and get one?” demanded Sister, 
listening to him. 

“ Hullo ! ” exclaimed Hiram, speaking to the man 
in the boat. 


Mr. Pepper Appears 155 

‘‘ Well? ’’ asked the fellow. 

“ Haven’t you got a coil of strong rope aboard? ” 

‘‘ There’s the painter,” said the man. 

Toss it ashore here,” commanded Hiram. 

‘‘ Oh, Hiram Strong! ” cried Lettie. You don’t 
expect us to walk tightrope, do you ? ” and she 
began to giggle. 

‘‘ No. I want you to unfasten the end of the rope. 
I want it clear — that’s it,” said Hiram. ‘‘ And it’s 
long enough, I can see.” 

‘‘ For what? ” asked Sister. 

“ Wait and you’ll see,” returned the young 
farmer, hastily coiling the rope again. 

He hung it over his shoulder and then started 
to climb the big sycamore. He could go up the 
bole of this leaning tree very quickly, for the huge 
grapevine gave him a hand-hold all the way. 

“ Whatever are you going to do ? ” cried Lettie 
Bronson, looking up at him, as did the other girls. 

“ Now,” said Hiram, in the first small crotch of 
the tree, which was almost directly over the stranded 
launch, “ if you girls have any pluck at all, I can 
get you ashore, one by one.” 

“What do you mean for us to do, Hiram?” 
repeated Lettie. 

The young farmer quickly fashioned a noose at 
the end of the line — not a slipnoose, for that would 
tighten and hurt anybody bearing upon it. This 
he dropped down to the boat and Lettie caught it. 


1^6 Hiram the Young Farmer 

“ Get your head and shoulders through that 
noose, Miss Bronson,” he commanded. ‘‘ Let it 
come under your arms. I will lift you out of the 
boat and swing you back and forth — there’s none 
of you so heavy that I can’t do this, and if you 
wet your feet a little, what’s the odds? ” 

‘‘ Oh, dear ! I can never do that ! ” squealed one 
of the other girls. 

“ Guess you’ll have txD do it if you don’t want to 
stay here all night,” returned Lettie, promptly. “ I 
see what you want, Hiram,” she added, and quickly 
adjusted the loop. 

Now, when you swing out over the bank. Sister 
will grab you, and steady you. It will be all right if 
you have a care. Now! ” cried Hiram. 

Lettie Bronson showed no fear at all as he drew 
her up and she swung out of the boat over the 
swiftly- running current. Hiram laid along the 
tree-trunk in an easy position, and began swinging 
the girl at the end of the rope, like a pendulum. 

The river bank being at least three feet higher 
than the surface of the water; he did not have to 
shift the rope again as he swung the girl back and 
forth. 

Sister, clinging with her left hand to the grape- 
vine, leaned forward and clutched Lettie’s hand. 
When she seized it. Sister backed away, and the 
swinging girl landed upright upon the bank. 

Oh, that’s fun ! ” Lettie cried, laughing, loosing 


Mr. Pepper Appears 157 

herself from the loop. Now you come, Mary 
Judson! 

Thus encouraged they responded one by one, and 
even the girl who had broken down and cried agreed 
to be rescued by this simple means. The boatman 
then, after removing his shoes and stockings and 
rolling up his trousers, stepped out upon the sunken 
rock and pushed off the boat. 

But it was leaking badly. He dared not take 
aboard his passengers again, but turned around 
and went down stream as fast as he could go 
so as to beach the boat in a safe place. 

“Now how’ll we get back to Scoville?” cried 
one of Lettie’s friends. “I can never walk that 
far.” 

Sister had dropped back, shyly, behind Hiram, 
when he descended the tree. She had aided each 
girl ashore ; but only Lettie had thanked her. Now 
she tugged at Hiram’s sleeve. 

“ Take ’em home in our wagon,” she whispered. 

“ I can take you to Scoville — or to Miss Bron- 
son’s — in the farm wagon,” Hiram said, smiling. 
“ You can sit on straw in the bottom and be com- 
fortable.” 

“Oh, a straw ride!” cried Lettie. “What fun! 
And he can drive us right to St. Beris — And think 
what the other girls will say and how they’ll stare ! ” 

The idea seemed a happy one to all the girls 
save the cry-baby, Myra Carroll. And her coni^ 


1^8 Hiram the Young Farmer 

plaints were drowned in the laughter and chatter of 
the others. 

Hiram picked up the tools, Sister got the string 
of fish, and they set out for the Atterson farm- 
house. Lettie chatted most of the way with Hiram ; 
but to Sister, walking on the other side of the young 
farmer, the Western girl never said a word. 

At the house it was the same. While Hiram was 
cleaning the wagon and putting a bed of straw into 
it, and currying the horse and gearing him to the 
wagon, Mrs. Atterson brought a crock of cookies 
out upon the porch and talked wdth the girls from 
St. Beris. Sister had run indoors and changed 
her shabby and soiled frock for a new gingham; 
but when she came down to the porch, and stood 
bashfully in the doorway, none of the girls from 
town spoke to her. 

Hiram drove up with the farm-wagon. Most of 
the girls had accepted the adventure in the true 
spirit now, and they climbed into the wagon-bed 
on the clean straw with laughter and jokes. But 
nobody invited Sister to join the party. 

The orphan looked wistfully after the wagon as 
Hiram drove out of the yard. Then she turned, 
with trembling lip, to Mother Atterson : 

“ She — she’s awfully pretty,” she said, “ and 
Hiram likes her. But she — they're all proud, and 
I guess they don’t think much of folks like us, 
after all.” 


Mr. Pepper Appears 159 

“ Shucks, Sister ! we’re just good as they be, 
every bit,” returned Mrs. Atterson, bruskly. 

“ I know ; mebbe we be,” admitted Sister, slowly. 

But it don’t feel so.” 

And perhaps Hiram had some such thought, too, 
after he had driven the girls to the big boarding- 
school in Scoville. For they all got out without 
even thanking him or bidding him good-bye — all 
save Lettie. 

“ Really, we are a thousand times obliged to 
you, Hiram Strong,” she said, in her very best 
manner, and offering him her hand. As the 
girls were my guests I felt I must get them home 
again safely — and you were indeed a friend in 
need.” 

But then she spoiled it utterly, by adding: 

“ Now, how much do I owe you, Hiram? ” and 
took out her purse. Is two dollars enough?” 

This put Hiram right in his place. He saw 
plainly that, friendly as the Bronsons were, they did 
not look upon a common farm-boy as their equal — 
not in social matters, at least. 

I could not take anything for doing a neighbor 
a favor. Miss Bronson,” said Hiram, quietly. 

Thank you. Good-day.” 

Hiram drove back home feeling quite as de- 
pressed as Sister, perhaps. Finally he said to him- 
self: 

“ Well, some day I’ll show ’em! ” 


i6o Hiram the Young Farmer 

After that he put the matter out of his mind and 
refused to be troubled by thoughts of Lettie Bron- 
son, or her attitude toward him. 

Spring was advancing apace now. Every day 
saw the development of bud, leaf and plant. Slowly 
the lowland was cleared and the brush and roots 
were heaped in great piles, ready for the torch. 

Hiram could not depend upon this six acres as 
their only piece of corn, however. There was the 
four-acre lot between the barnyard and the pasture 
in which he proposed to plant the staple crop. 

He drew out the remainder of the coarse manure 
and spread it upon this land, as far as it would go. 
For enriching the remainder of the co'rn crop he 
would have to depend upon a commercial fertilizer. 
He drew, too, a couple of tons of lime to be used 
on this corn land, and left it in heaps to slake. 

And then, out of the clear sky of their progress, 
came a bolt as unexpected as could be. They had 
been less than a month upon the farm. Uncle 
Jeptha had not been in his grave thirty days, and 
Hiram was just getting into the work of running 
the place, with success looming ahead. 

He had refused Mr. Bronson’s offer of a position 
and had elected to stick by Mrs. Atterson. He had 
looked forward to nothing to disturb the contract 
between them until the time should be fulfilled. 

Yet one afternoon, while he was at work in the 
garden. Sister came out to him all in a flurry. 


Mr. Pepper Appears i6i 

Mis’ Atterson wants you ! Mis’ Atterson wants 
you ! ” cried the girl. “ Oh, Hiram 1 something 
dreadful’s going to happen. I know, by the way 
Mis’ Atterson looks. And I don’ like the looks o’ 
that man that’s come to see her.” 

Hiram unhooked the horse at the end of the row 
and left Sister to lead him to the stable. He went 
into the house after knocking the mud off his boots. 

There, sitting in the bright kitchen, was the sharp- 
featured, snaky-looking man with whom Hiram 
had once talked in town. He knew his name was 
Pepper, and that he did something in the real estate 
line, and insurance, and the like. 

“ Jest listen to what this man says,' Hiram,” said 
Mrs. Atterson, grimly. 

“ My name’s Pepper,” began the man, eyeing 
Hiram curiously. 

“ So I hear,” returned the young farmer. 

Before old Mr. Atterson died we got to talking 
one day when he was in town about his selling.” 

“.Well?” returned Hiram. “You didn’t say 
anything about that when you offered twelve hun- 
dred for this place.” 

“ Well,” said the man, stubbornly, “ that was a 
good offer.” 

Hiram turned to Mrs. Atterson. “ Do you want 
to sell for that price ? ” 

“ No, I don’t. Hi,” she said. 

“ Then that settles it, doesn’t it ? Mrs. Atterson 
is the owner, and she knows her own mind.” 


i 62 Hiram the Young Farmer 

“ I made Uncle Jeptha a better offer/’ said Mr. 
Pepper, “ and I’ll make Mrs. Atterson the same — 
sixteen hundred dollars. It’s a run-down farm, of 
course ” 

‘Hf Mrs. Atterson doesn’t want to sell,” inter- 
rupted Hiram, but here his employer intervened. 

“ There’s something more. Hi,” she said, her 
face working strangely. Tell him, you Pepper! ” 

‘‘ Why, the old man gave me an option on the 
place, and I risked a twenty dollar bill on it. The 
option had — er — a, year to run; dated February 
tenth last; and I’ve decided to take the option up,” 
said Mr. Pepper, his shrewd little eyes dancing in 
their gaze from Hiram to the old lady and back 
again. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


A HEAVY CLOUD 

Now, a rattlesnake is poisonous, but he gives 
fair warning ; a swamp moccasin lies in wait for the 
unwary and strikes without sign or sound. Into 
Hiram Strong’s troubled mind came the thought 
that Mr. Pepper was striking like his prototype of 
the swamps. 

A snaky sort of a man was Mr. Pepper — sly, 
a hand-rubber as he talked, with a little, sickly grin 
playing about his thin, mean mouth. When he 
opened it Hiram almost expected to see a forked 
tongue run out. I 

At least, of one thing was the young farmer sure : 
Mr. Pepper was no more to be trusted than a ser- 
pent. Therefore, he did not take a word that the 
man said on trust. 

He recovered from the shock which the state- 
ment of the real estate man had caused, and he 
uttered no expression of either surprise, or trouble. 
Mrs. Atterson he could see was vastly disturbed by 
the statement; but somebody had to keep a cool 
head in this matter. 

163 


164 Hiram the Young Farmer 

Let’s see your option,” Hiram demanded, 
bruskly. 

“ Why — if Mrs. Atterson wishes to see it ” 

“ You show it to Hi, you Pepper-man,” snapped 
the old lady. “ I wouldn’t do a thing without his 
advice.” 

“ Oh, well, if you consider a hoy* s advice 
material ” 

“ I know Hi’s honest,” declared the old lady, 
tartly. “ And that’s what I’m sure you ain’t ! Be- 
sides,” she added, sadly, Hi’s as much interested 
in this thing as I be. If the farm’s got to be sold, 
it puts Hi out of a job.” 

Oh, very well,” said the real estate man, and 
he drew a rather soiled, folded paper from his inner 
pocket. 

He seemed to hesitate the fraction of a second 
about showing the paper. It increased Hi’s sus- 
picion — this hesitancy. If the man had a perfectly 
good option on the farm, why didn’t he go about the 
matter boldly? 

But when he got the paper in his own hands he 
could see nothing wrong with it. It seemed written 
in straight-forward language, the signatures were 
clear enough, and as he had seen and read Uncle 
Jeptha’s will, he was quite sure that this was the old 
man’s signature to the option which, for the sum 
of twenty dollars in hand paid to him, he agreed to 
sell his farm, situated so-and-so, for sixteen hundred 


A Heavy Cloud 165 

dollars, cash, same to be paid over within one year 
of date. 

“ Of course,” said Hiram, slowly, handing back 
the paper — indeed, Pepper had kept the grip of his 
forefinger and thumb on it all the time — “ Of 
course, Mrs. Atterson’s lawyer must see this before 
she agrees to anything.” 

Why, Hiram ! I ain’t got no lawyer,” exclaimed 
the old lady. 

“ Go to Mr. Strickland, who made Uncle Jephta’s 
will,” Hiram said to her. Then he turned to 
Pepper : 

“ What’s the name of the witness to that old 
man’s signature ? ” 

Abel Pollock.” 

‘‘Oh! Henry’s father?” 

“ Yes. He’s got a son named Henry.” 

“And who’s the Notary Public?” 

“ Caleb Schell. He keeps the store just at the 
crossroads as you go into town.” 

“ I remember the store,” said Hiram, thought- 
fully. 

“ But Hiram ! ” cried Mrs. Atterson, “ I don’t 
want to sell the farm.” 

“ We’ll be sure this paper is all straight before 
you do sell, Mrs. Atterson.” 

“ Why, I just won't sell ! ” she exclaimed. 
“ Uncle Jeptha never said nothing in his will about 
giving this option. And that lawyer says that in 


i66 Hiram the Young Farmer 

a couple of years the farm will be worth a good 
deal more than this Pepper offers.” 

‘‘ Why, Mrs. Atterson ! ” exclaimed the real estate 
man, cheerfully, as property is selling in this 
locality now, sixteen hundred dollars is a mighty 
good offer for your farm. You ask anybody. Why, 
Uncle Jeptha knew it was; otherwise he wouldn’t 
have given me the option, for he didn’t believe I’d 
come up with the price. He knew it was a high 
offer.” 

‘‘ And if it’s worth so much to you, why isn’t 
it worth more to Mrs. Atterson to keep ? ” demanded 
Hiram, sharply. 

‘‘Ah! that’s my secret — why I want it,” said 
Pepper, nodding. “ Leave that to me. If I get bit 
by buying it, I shall have to suffer for my lack of 
wisdom.” 

“ You ain’t bought it yet — you Pepper,” snapped 
Mrs. Atterson. 

“ But I’m going to buy it, ma’am,” replied he, 
rather viciously, as he stood up, ready to depart. 
“ I shall expect to hear from you no later than Mon- 
day.” 

“ I won’t sell it! ” 

“ You’ll have to. If you refuse to sign I’ll go to 
the Chancery Court. I’ll make you.” 

“ Well. Mebbe you will. But I don’t know. I 
never was made to do anything yet. By no man 
named Pepper — you can take that home with you,” 


A Heavy Cloud 167 

she flung after him as he walked out and climbed 
into the buggy. 

But whereas Mrs. Atterson showed anger, Hiram 
went back to work in the field with a much deeper 
feeling racking his mind. If the option was all 
right — and of course it must be — this would settle 
their occupancy of the farm. 

Of course he could not hold Mrs. Atterson to her 
contract. She could not help the situation that had 
now arisen. 

His' Spring’s work had gone for nothing. Six- 
teen hundred dollars, even in cash, would not be 
any great sum for the old lady. And she had bur- 
dened herself with the support of Sister — and with 
Old Lem Camp, too! 

“ Surely, I can’t be a burden on her. I’ll have to 
hustle around and find another job. I wonder if 
Mr. Bronson would take me on now? ” 

But he knew that the Westerner already had a 
man who suited him, since Hiram had refused the 
chance Bronson offered. And, then, Lettie had 
shown that she felt he had not appreciated their 
offer. Perhaps her father felt the same way. 

Besides, Hiram had a secret wish not to put him- 
self under obligation to the Bronsons. This feeling 
may have sprung from a foolish source; neverthe- 
less it was strong with the young farmer. 

It looked very much to him as though this sud- 
den turn of circumstances was ‘‘ a facer If Mrs. 


1 68 Hiram the Young Farmer 

Atterson had to sell the farm he was likely to be 
thrown on his own resources again. 

For his own selfish sake Hiram was worried, too. 
After all, he would be unable to make good ” and 
to show people that he could make the old, run-down 
farm pay a profit to its owner. 

But Hiram Strong couldn’t believe it. 

The more he milled over the thing in his mind, 
the less he understood why Uncle Jeptha, who was 
of acute mind right up to the hour of his death, 
so all the neighbors said, should have neglected to 
speak about the option he had given Pepper on the 
farm. 

And here they were, right in the middle of the 
Spring work, with crops in the ground and — as Mrs. 
Atterson agreed — it would be too late to go hunting 
a farm for this present season. 

But Hiram kept to work. He had Sister and Old 
Lem Camp out in the garden, hand-weeding and 
thinning the carrots, onions, and other tender plants. 
That Saturday he went through the entire garden — 
that part already planted — with either the horse cul- 
tivator, or his wheel-hoe. 

In planting parsnips, carrots, and other slow- 
germinating seed, he had mixed a few radish seed 
in the seeding machine ; these sprang up quickly and 
defined the rows, so that the space between rows 
could be cultivated before the other plants had 
scarcely broke the surface of the soil. 


A Heavy Cloud 169 

Now these radish were beginning to be big enough 
to pull. Hiram brought in a few bunches for their 
dinner on Saturday — the first fruits of the garden. 

Now, I dunno why it is,” said Mrs. Atterson, 
complacently, after setting her teeth in the first 
radish and relishing its crispness, but this seems a 
whole lot better than the radishes we used to buy in 
Crawberry. I ’spect what’s your very own always 
seems better than other folks’s,” and she sighed 
and shook her head. 

She was thinking of the thing she had to face on 
Monday. Hiram hated to see them all so down- 
hearted. Sister’s ‘eyes were red from weeping; Old 
Lem Camp sat at the table, muttering and playing 
with his food again instead of eating. 

But Hiram felt as though he could not give up to 
the disaster that had come to them. The thought 
that — in some way — Pepper was taking an unfair 
advantage of Mother Atterson knocked continually 
at the door of his mind. 

He went over, to himself, all that had passed in 
the kitchen the day before when the real estate man 
had come to speak with Mrs. Atterson. How had 
Pepper spoken about the option? Hadn’t there 
been some hesitancy in the fellow’s manner — in his 
speech, indeed? 

Just what had Pepper said? Hiram concen- 
trated his mind upon this one thing. What had the 
man said? 


1 70 Hiram the Young Farmer 

‘‘ The option had — er — one year to run/’ 

Those were the fellow’s very words. He hesi- 
tated before he pronounced the length of time. And 
he was not a man who, in speaking, had any stam- 
mering of tongue. 

Why had he hesitated? Why should it trouble 
him to state the time limit of the option? 

Was it because he was speaking a falsehood f 

The thought stung Hiram like a thorn in the flesh. 
He put away the tool with which he was working, 
slipped on a coat, and started for Henry Pollock’s 
house, which lay not more than half a mile from the 
Atterson farm, across the fields. 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE REASON WHY 

Hiram found Abel Pollock mending harness in 
the shed. Hiram opened his business bluntly, and 
told the farmer what was up. Mr. Pollock scratched 
his head, listened attentively, and then sat down 
to digest the news. 

You gotter move^ — jest when you’ve got rightly 
settled on that place? ” he demanded. ‘‘ Well, that’s 
’tarnal bad ! And from what Henry tells me, you’re 
a young feller with idees, too.” 

I don’t care so much for myself,” Hiram has- 
tened to say. ‘‘ It’s Mrs. Atterson I’m thinking 
about. And she had just made up her mind that she 
was anchored for the rest of her life. Besides, I 
don’t think it is a wise thing to sell the property at 
that price.” 

No. I wouldn’t sell if I was her, for no six- 
teen hundred dollars.” 

But she’s got to, you see, Mr. Pollock. Pepper 

has the option signed by her Uncle Jeptha ” 

‘‘ Jeptha Atterson was no fool,” interrupted Pol- 
171 


172 Hiram the Young Farmer 

lock. I can’t understand his giving an option on 
the farm, with all this talk of the railroad crossing 
the river.” 

But, Mr. Pollock ! ” exclaimed Hiram, eagerly, 
you must know all about this option. You signed 
as a witness to Uncle Jeptha’s signature.” 

‘‘No! you don’t mean that?” exclaimed the 
farmer. “ My name to it, too? ” 

“ Yes. And it was signed before Caleb Schell, 
the notary public.” 

“ So it was^ — SO it was, boy ! ” declared the other, 
suddenly smiting his knee. “ I remember I wit- 
nessed Uncle Jeptha’s signature once. But that was 
way back there in the winter — before he was took 
sick.” 

“Yes, sir?” said Hiram, eagerly. 

“ That was an option on the old farm. So it was. 
But goodness me, boy. Pepper must have got him 
to renew it, or something. That option wouldn’t 
have run till now.” 

Hiram told him the date the paper was executed. 

“That’s right, by Jo! It was in February.” 

“ And it was for a year ? ” 

Mr. Pollock stared at him in silence, evidently 
thinking deeply. 

“If you remember all about it, then,” Hiram 
continued, “ it’s hardly worth while going to Mr. 
Schell, I suppose.” 

“ I remember, all right,” said Pollock, slowly. 


173 


The Reason Why 

‘‘ It was all done right there in Cale Schell’s store. 
It was one rainy afternoon. There was several of 
us sitting around Gale’s stove. Pepper was one of 
us. In comes Uncle Jeptha. Pepper got after him 
right away, but sort of on the quiet, to one side. 

I heard ’em. Pepper had made him an offer for 
the farm that was^’way down low, and the old man 
laughed at him. 

‘‘We hadn’t none of us heard then the talk that 
came later about the railroad. But Pepper has a 
brother-in-law who’s in the office of the company, 
and he thinks he gits inside information. 

“ So, for some reason, he thought the railroad 
was going to touch Uncle Jeptha’s farm. O’ course, 
it ain’t. It’s goin’ over the river by Ayertown. 

“ I don’t see what Pepper wants to take up the 
option for, anyway. Unless he sees that you’re 
likely to make suthin’ out o’ the old place, and mebbe 
he’s got a city feller on the string, to buy it.” 

“ It doesn’t matter what his reason is. Mrs. At- 
terson doesn’t want to sell, and if that option is all 
right, she must,” said Hiram. “ And you are sure 
Uncle Jeptha gave it for twelve months?” 

“Twelve months?” ejaculated Pollock, sud- 
denly. “Why — no — that don’t seem right,” stam- 
mered the farmer, scratching his head. 

“ But that’s the way the option reads.” 

Well — mebbe. I didn’t just read it myself — no, 
sir. They jest says to me: 


174 Hiram the Young Farmer 

“ ‘ Come here, Pollock, and witness these signa- 
tures/ So, I done it — that’s all. But I see Cale 
put on his specs and read the durn thing through 
before he stamped it. Yes, sir. Gale’s the careful - 
est notary public we ever had around here. 

“ Say ! ” said Mr. Pollock. You go to Cale and 
ask him. It don’t seem to me the old man give 
Pepper so long a time.” 

‘‘For how long was the option to run, then?” 
queried Hiram, excitedly. 

“ Wal, I wouldn’t wanter say. I don’t wanter 
git inter trouble with no neighbor. If Cale says 
a year is all right, then I’ll say so, too. I wouldn’t 
jest trust my memory.” 

“ But there is some doubt in your mind, Mr. 
Pollock?” 

“ There is. A good deal of doubt,” the farmer 
assured him. “ But you ask Cale.” 

This was all that Hiram could get out of the 
elder Pollock. It was not very comforting. The 
young farmer was of two minds whether he should 
see Caleb Schell, or not. 

But when he got back to the house for supper, 
and saw the doleful faces of the three waiting 
there, he couldn’t stand inaction. 

“If you don’t mind, I want to go to town to- 
night, Mrs. Atterson,” he told the old lady. 

“ All right, Hiram. I expect you’ve got to look 
out for yourself, boy. If you can get another job, 


1 75 


The Reason Why 

you take it. It’s a ’tarnal shame you didn’t take 
up with that Bronson’s offer when he come here 
after you. 

“ You needn’t feel so,” said Hiram. “ You’re 
no more at fault than I am. This thing just 
happened — nobody could foretell it. And I’m just 
as sorry as I can be for you, Mother Atterson.” 

The old woman wiped her eyes. 

‘‘ Well, Hi, there’s other things in this world 
to worry over besides gravy, I find,” she said. 

Some folks is born for trouble, and mebbe we’re 
some of that kind.” 

It was not exactly Mr. Pollock’s doubts that sent 
Hiram Strong down to the crossroads store that 
evening. For the farmer had seemed so uncertain 
that the boy couldn’t trust to his memory at all. 

No. It was Hiram’s remembrance of Pepper’s 
stammering when he spoke about the option. He 
hesitated to pronounce the length of time the option 
had been drawn for. Was it because he knew there 
was some trick about the time-limit? 

Had the real estate man fooled old Uncle Jeptha 
in the beginning? The dead man had been very 
shrewd and careful. Everybody said so. 

He was conscious and of acute mind right up 
to his death. If there was an option on the farm 
he surely would have said something about it to 
Mr. Strickland, or to some of the neighbors. 

It looked to Hiram as though the old farmer must 


176 Hiram the Young Farmer 

have believed that the option had expired before the 
day of his death. 

Had Pepper only got the old man’s promise for 
a shorter length of time, but substituted the paper 
reading ‘‘one -year” when it was signed? Was 
that the mystery? 

However, Hiram could not see how that would 
help Mrs. Atterson, for even testimony of witnesses 
who heard the discussion between the dead man 
and the real estate agent, could not controvert a 
written instrument. The young fellow knew that. 

He harnessed the old horse to the light wagon 
and drove to the crossroads store kept by Caleb 
Schell. Many of the country people liked to trade 
with this man because his store was a social gather- 
ing-place. 

Around a hot stove in the winter, and a cold 
stove at this time of year, the men gathered to dis- 
cuss the state of the country, local politics, their 
neighbors’ business, and any other topic which was 
suggested to their more or less idle minds. 

On the outskirts of the group of older loafers, 
the growing crop of men who would later take 
their places in the soap-box forum lingered; while 
sky-larking about the verge of the crowd were 
smaller boys who were learning no good, to say 
the least, in attaching themselves to the older mem- 
bers of the company. 

There will always be certain men in every com- 


177 


The Reason Why 

munity who take delight in poisoning the minds of v 
the younger generation. We muzzle dogs, or shoot 
them when they go mad. The foul-mouthed man is 
far more vicious than the dog, and should be im- 
pounded. 

Hiram hitched his horse to the rack before the 
store and entered the crowded place. The fumes 
of tobacco smoke, vinegar, cheese, and various 
other commodities gave a distinctive flavor to 
Caleb Schell’s store — and not a pleasant one, to 
Hiram’s mind. 

Ordinarily he would have made any purchases 
he had to make, and gone out at once. But Schell 
was busy with several customers at the counter and 
he was forced to wait a chance to speak with the 
old man. 

One of the first persons Hiram saw in the store 
was young Pete Dickerson, hanging about the edge 
of the crowd. Pete scowled at him and moved 
away. One of the men holding down a cracker- 
keg sighted Hiram and hailed him in a jovial tone : 

“Hi, there, Mr. Strong! What’s this we been 
bearin’ about you? They say you had a run-in 
with Sam Dickerson. We been .tryin’ to git the 
pertic’lars out o’ Pete, here, but he don’t seem ter 
wanter talk about it,” and the man guffawed 
heartily. 

“ Hear ye made Sam give back the tools he 
borrowed of the old man?” said another man. 


178 Hiram the Young Farmer 

whom Hiram knew to be Mrs. Larriper’s son-in- 
law. 

You are probably misinformed,” said Hiram, 
quietly. “ I know no reason why Mr. Dickerson 
and I should have trouble — unless other neighbors 
make trouble for us.” 

“ Right, boy — right ! ” called Cale Schell, from 
behind the counter, where he could hear and com- 
ment upon all that went on in the middle of the 
room, despite the attention he had to give to his 
customers. 

“ Well, if you can git along with Sam and Pete, 
you’ll do well,” laughed another of the group. 

The Dickersons seemed to be in disfavor in the 
community, and nobody cared whether Pete re- 
peated what was said to his father, or not. 

I was told,” pursued the first speaker, screwing 
up one eye and grinning at Hiram, that you broke 
Sam’s gun over his head and chased Pete a mile. 
That right, son?” 

“ You will get no information from me,” re- 
turned Hiram, tartly. 

Why, Pete ought to be big enough to lick you 
alone. Strong,” continued the tantalizer. Hey, 
Pete ! Don’t sneak out. Come and tell us why you 
didn’t give this chap the lickin’ you said you was 
going to ? ” 

Pete only glared at him and slunk out of the store. 
Hiram turned his back on the whole crowd and 


179 


, The Reason Why 

waited at the end of the counter for Mr. Schell. 
The storekeeper was a tall, portly man, with a gray 
mustache and side-whiskers, and a high bald fore- 
head. 

“ What can I do for you, Mr. Strong? ” he asked, 
finally having got rid of the customers who preceded 
Hiram. 

Hiram, in a low voice, explained his mission. 
Schell nodded his head at once. 

“ Oh, yes,’^ he said ; “ I remember about the 
option. I had forgotten it, for a fact; but Pepper 
was in here yesterday talking about it. He had 
been to your house.” 

Then, sir, to the best of your remembrance, 
the option is all right?” 

‘‘ Oh, certainly ! Pollock witnessed it, and I put 
my seal on it. Yes, sir; Pepper can make the old 
lady sell. It’s too bad, if she wants to remain 
there; but the price he is to pay isn’t so bad ” 

“You have no reason to doubt the validity of 
the option?” cried Hiram, in desperation. 

“ Assuredly not.” 

“ Then why didn’t Uncle Jeptha speak of it to 
somebody before he died, if the option had not run 
out at that time ? ” 

“ Humph!” 

“ You grant the old man was of sound mind?” 

“ Sound as a pine knot,” agreed the storekeeper, 
still reflective. 


i8o Hiram the Young Farmer 

Then how is it he did not speak to his lawyer 
about the option when he saw Mr. Strickland within 
an hour of his death? ” 

“ That does seem peculiar,” admitted the store- 
keeper, slowly. 

And Mr. Pollock says he thinks there is some- 
thing wrong about the option,” went on Hiram, 
eagerly. 

Oh, Pollock ! Pah ! ” returned Schell. I don’t 
suppose he even read it.” 

‘‘ But you did? ” 

‘^Assuredly. I always read every paper. If 
they don’t want me to know what the agreement 
is, they can take it to some other Notary,” declared 
the storekeeper with a jolly laugh. 

“ And you are sure that the option was to run a 
year? ” 

'^Of course the option’s all right Hold on! 

A year, did you say? Why — seems to me — let’s 
look this thing up,” concluded Caleb Schell, sud- 
denly. 

He dived into his little office and produced a 
ledger from the safe. This he slapped down on 
the counter between them. 

I’m a careful man, I am,” he told Hiram. 
‘‘ And I flatter myself I’ve got a good memory, too. 
Pepper was in here yesterday sputtering about the 
option and I remember now - that he spoke of its 
running a year. 



“ Why should he be so eager to get the farm now ? 

asked Hiram. [Seepage i8l] 




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The Reason Why i8i 

'' But it seems to me,” said Schell, pawing over 
the leaves of his ledger, “ that the talk between him 
and old Uncle Jeptha was for a short time. The 
old man was mighty cautious — mighty cautious.” 

‘‘That’s what Mr. Pollock says,” cried Hiram, 
eagerly. 

“ But you’ve seen the option ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“And it reads a year?” 

“ Oh, yes.” 

“ Then how you going to get around that? ” 
demanded Schell, with conviction. 

“ But perhaps Uncle Jeptha signed the option 
thinking it was for a shorter time.” 

“ That wouldn’t help you none. The paper was 
signed. And why should Pepper have buncoed 
him — at that time ? ” 

“ Why should he be so eager to get the farm 
now?” asked Hiram. 

“ Well, I’ll tell you. It ain’t out yet. But two or 
three days ago the railroad board abandoned the 
route through Ayertown and it is agreed that the 
new bridge will be built along there by your farm 
somewhere. 

“The river is as narrow there as it is anywhere 
for miles up and down, and they will stretch a bridge 
from the high bank on your side, across the 
meadows, to the high bank on the other side. It 
will cut out grades, you see. That’s what has 


i 82 Hiram the Young Farmer 

started Pepper up to grab off the farm while the 
option is valid.” 

“But, Mr. Schell, is the option valid?” cried 
Hiram, anxiously. 

“ I don’t see how you’re going to get around it. 
Ah! here’s the place. When I have sealed a paper 
I make a note of it — what the matter was about 
and who the contracting parties were. I’ve done 
that for years. Let — me — see.” 

He adjusted his spectacles. He squinted at the 
page, covered closely with writing. Hiram saw 
him whispering the words he read to himself. Sud- 
denly the blood flooded into the old man’s face, and 
he looked up with a start at his interrogator. 

“ Do you mean to say that option’s for a year? ” 
he demanded. 

“ That is the way it reads — now/^ whispered 
Hiram, watching him closely. 

The old man turned the book around slowly on the 
counter. His stubbed finger pointed to the two or 
three scrawled lines written in a certain place. 

Hiram read them slowly, with beating heart. 


CHAPTER XX 


AN ENEMY IN THE DARK 

The whispered conference between Hiram Strong 
and the storekeeper could not be heard by the curious 
crowd around the cold stove; nor did it last for 
long. 

Caleb Schell finally closed his ledger and put it 
away. Hiram shook hands with him and walked 
out. 

On the platform outside, which was illuminated 
by a single smoky lantern, a group of small boys 
were giggling, and they watched Hiram unhitch the 
old horse and climb into the spring wagon with so 
much hilarity that the young farmer expected some 
trick. 

The horse started off all right, he missed noth- 
ing from the wagon, and so he supposed that he 
was mistaken. The boys had merely been laughing 
at him because he was a stranger. 

But as Hiram got some few yards from the hitch- 
ing rack, the seat was suddenly pulled from under 
him, and he was left sprawling on his back in the 
bottom of the wagon. 

183 


184 Hiram the Young Farmer 

A yell of derision from the crowd outside the 
store assured him that this was the cause of the 
boys’ hilarity. Luckily his old horse was of quiet 
disposition, and he stopped dead in his tracks when 
the seat flew out of the back of the wagon. 

A joke is a joke. No use in showing wrath over 
this foolish amusement of the crossroads boys. But 
Hiram got a little the best of them, after all. 

The youngsters had scattered when the “ acci- 
dent ” occurred. Hiram, getting out to pick up the 
seat, found the end of a strong hemp line fastened 
, to it. The other end was tied to the hitching rack 
in front of the store. 

Instead of casting off the line from the seat, 
Hiram walked back to the store and cast that end 
off. 

“ At any rate. I’m in a good coil of hemp rope,” 
he said to one of the men who had come out to see 
the fun. “ The fellow who owns it can come and 
prove property; but I shall ask a few questions of 
him.” 

There was no more laughter. The young farmer 
walked back to his wagon, set up the seat again, 
and drove on. 

The roadway was dark, but having been used all 
his life to country roads at night, Hiram had no 
difficulty in seeing the path before him. Besides, 
the old horse knew his way home. 

He drove on some eighth of a mile. Suddenly 


An Enemy in the Dark 185 

he felt that the wagon was not running true. One 
of the wheels was yawing. He drew in the old 
horse; but he was not quick enough. 

The nigh forward wheel rolled off the end of 
the axle, and down came the wagon with a crash! 

Hiram was thrown forward and came spraw- 
ling — on hands and knees — upon the ground, while 
the wheel rolled into the ditch. He was little hurt, 
although the accident might have been serious. 

And in truth, he knew it to be no accident. A 
burr does not easily work off the end of an axle. He 
had greased the old wagon just before he started 
for the store, and he knew he had replaced each nut 
carefully. 

This was a deliberately malicious trick — no boy’s 
joke like the tieing of the rope to his wagon seat. 
And the axle was broken. Although he had no 
lantern he could see that the wagon could not be 
used again without being repaired. 

“ Who did it? ” was Hiram’s unspoken question, 
as he slowly unharnessed the old horse, and then 
dragged the broken wagon entirely out of the road 
so that it would not be an obstruction for other 
vehicles. 

His mind set instantly upon Pete Dickerson. He 
had not seen the boy when he came out of the 
crossroads store. If the fellow had removed this 
burr, he had done it without anybody seeing him, 
and had then run home. 


i86 Hiram the Young Farmer 

The young farmer, much disturbed over this 
incident, mounted the back of the old horse, and 
paced home. He only told Mrs. Atterson that he 
had met with an accident and that the light wagon 
would have to be repaired before it could be used 
again. 

That necessitated their going to town on Monday 
in the heavy wagon. And Hiram dragged the spring 
wagon to the blacksmith shop for repairs, on the 
way. 

But before that, the enemy in the dark had struck 
again. When Hiram went to the barnyard to water 
the stock, Sunday morning, he found that some- 
body had been bothering the pump. 

The bucket, or pump- valve, was gone. He had to 
take it apart, cut a new valve out of sole leather, and 
put the pump together again. 

“ We’ll have to get a cross dog, if we remain 
here,” he told Mrs. Atterson. ‘‘ There is somebody 
in the neighborhood who means us harm.” 

Them Dickersons ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Atterson. 

‘‘ Perhaps. That Pete, maybe. If I once caught 
him up to his tricks Pd make him sorry enough.” 

Tell the constable. Hi,” cried Sister, angrily. 

That would make trouble for his folks. Maybe 
they don’t know just how mean Pete is. A good 
thrashing — and the threat of another every time he 
did anything mean — would do him lots more good.” 

This wasn’t nice Sunday work, but it was too far 


An Enemy in the Dark 187 

to carry water from the house to the horse trough, 
so Hiram had to repair the jpump. 

On Monday morning he routed out Sister and 
Mr. Camp at daybreak. He had been up and out 
for an hour himself, and on a bench under the shed 
he had heaped two or three bushels of ladishes 
which he had pulled and washed, ready for 
bunching. 

He showed his helpers how the pretty scarlet 
balls were to be bunched, and found that Sister took 
hold of the work with nimble fingers, while Mr. 
Camp did very well at the unaccustomed task. 

“ I don’t know. Hi,” said Mrs. Atterson, de- 
spondently, that it’s worth while your trying to 
sell any of the truck, if we’re going to leave here 
so soon.” 

“ We haven’t left yet,” he returned, trying to 
speak cheerfully. And you might as well get every 
penny back that you can. Perhaps an arrangement 
can be made whereby we can stay and harvest the 
garden crop, at any rate.”* 

'' You can make up your mind that that Pepper 
man won’t give us any leeway; he isn’t that kind,” 
declared Mother Atterson, with conviction. 

Hiram made a quick sale of the radishes at several 
of the stores, where he got eighteen cents a dozen 
bunches; but some he sold at the big boarding- 
school — St. Beris — at a retail price. 

You can bring any other fre3h vegetables you 


i88 Hiram the Young Farmer 

may have from time to time,” the housekeeper told 
him. ‘‘ Nobody ever raised any early vegetables 
about Scoville before. They are very welcome.” 

'' Once we get a-going,” said Hiram to Mrs. At- 
terson, ‘‘ you or Sister can drive in with the spring 
wagon and dispose of the surplus vegetables. And 
you might get a small canning outfit — they come 
as cheap as fifteen dollars — and put up tomatoes, 
corn, peas, beans, and other things. Good canned 
stuff always sells well.” 

“ Good Land o’ Goshen, Hiram ! ” exclaimed the 
old lady, in desperation. “ You talk jest as though 
we were going to stay on the farm.” 

“ Well, let’s go and see Mr. Strickland,” replied 
the young farmer, and they set out for the lawyer’s 
office. 

Mrs. Atterson sat in the ante-room while Hiram 
asked to speak with the old lawyer in private for a 
minute. The conference was not for long, and 
when Hiram came back to his employer he said : 

“ Mr. Strickland has sent his junior clerk out for 
Pepper. He thinks we’d better talk the matter 
over quietly. And he wants to see the option, 
too.” 

“Oh, Hiram! There ain’t no hope, is there?” 
groaned the old lady. 

“Well, I tell you what!” exclaimed the young 
fellow, “ we won’t give in to him until we have to. 
Of course, if you refuse to sign a deed he can go 


An Enemy in the Dark 189 

to chancery and in the end you will have to pay the 
costs of the action. 

“ But perhaps, even at that, it might be well to 
hold him off until you have got the present crop 
out of the ground.” 

'' Oh, I won’t go to law,” said Mrs. Atterson, de- 
cidedly. “ No good ever come of that.” 

After a time Mr. Strickland invited them both 
into his private office. The attorney spoke quietly 
of other matters while they waited for Pepper. 

But the real estate man did not appear. By and 
by Mr. Strickland’s clerk came back with the report 
that Pepper had been called away suddenly on im- 
portant business. 

They tell me he went Saturday,” said the clerk. 

He may not be back for a week. But he said he 
was going to buy the Atterson place when he re- 
turned — he’s told several people around town so.” 

Ah ! ” said Mr. Strickland, slowly. ‘‘ Then he 
has left that threat hanging, like the Sword of 
Damocles — over Mrs. Atterson’s head?” 

“ I don’t know nothin’ about that sword, Mr. 
Strickland, nor no other sword, ’cept a rusty one 
that my father carried when he was a hoss-sodger 
in the Rebellion,” declared Mother Atterson, ner- 
vously. ‘‘ But if that Pepper man’s got one belong-' 
ing to Mr. Damocles, I shouldn’t be at all surprised. 
That Pepper looked to me like a man that would 
take anything he could lay his hands on — if he 
warn’t watched ! ” 


190 


Hiram the Young Farmer 

Which is a true and just interpretation of Pep- 
per’s character, I believe,” observed the lawyer, 
smiling. 

“ And we’ve got to give up the farm at his say- 
so — at any time ? ” demanded the old lady. 

'‘li his option is good,” said Mr. Strickland. 

But I want to see the paper — and I can assure 
you, Mrs. Atterson, that I shall subject it to the 
closest possible scrutiny. 

There is a possibility that Pepper’s option may 
be questioned before the courts. Do not build too 
many hopes on this,” he added, quickly, seeing the 
old lady’s face light up. 

You have a very good champion in this young 
man,” and the lawyer nodded at Hiram. 

He suspected all was not right with the option 
and he has dug up the fact that the witness to 
your uncle’s signature, and the man before whom 
the paper was attested, both believed the option was 
for a short time. 

Caleb Schell’s book shows that it was for 
thirty days. Uncle Jeptha undoubtedly thought it 
was for that length of time and therefore the option 
expired several days before he died. 

“ Mr. Pepper may have fallen under temptation. 
He considered heretofore, like everybody else, that 
the railroad would pass us by in this section. Pep- 
per gambled twenty dollars on its coming along the 
boundary of the Atterson farm — ^between you and 
Darreirs tract — and thought he had lost. 


An Enemy in the Dark 191 

Then suddenly the railroad board turned square 
around and voted for the condemnation of the 
original route. Pepper remembered the option he 
had risked twenty dollars on. If it was originally 
for thirty days, it was void, of course; but Uncle 
Jeptha is dead, and he hopes perhaps, that nobody 
else will dispute the validity of it.” 

“ It’s a forgery, then? ” cried Mrs. Atterson. 

“ It may be a forgery. We do not know,” said 
the lawyer, hastily. “ At any rate, he has the 
paper, and he is a shrewd rascal.” 

Mrs. Atterson’s face was a study. 

Do you mean to tell me we have got to lose 
the farm ? ” she demanded. 

‘‘ My dear lady, that I cannot tell you. I must 
see this option. We must put it to the test ” 

But Schell and Pollock will testify that the 
option was for thirty days,” cried Hiram. 

Perhaps. To the best of their remembrance and 
belief, it was for thirty days. A shrewd lawyer, 
however — and Pepper would employ a shrewd one — 
would turn their evidence inside out. 

“No evidence — in theory, at least — can controvert 
a written instrument, signed, sealed, and delivered. 
Even Gale Schell’s memoranda book cannot be 
taken as evidence, save in a contributory way. It 
is not direct. It is the carelessly scribbled record, in 
pencil, of a busy man. 

“ No. If Pepper puts forward the option we 


192 Hiram the Young Farmer 

have got to see if that option has been tampered 
with — the paper itself, I mean. If the fellow sub- 
stituted a different instrument, at the time of sign- 
ing, from the one Uncle Jeptha thought he signed, 
you have no case — I tell you frankly, my dear 
lady.” 

“ Then, it ain’t no use. We got to lose the place, 
Hiram,” said Mrs. Atterson, when they left the 
lawyer’s office. 

‘‘ I wouldn’t lose heart. If Pepper is scared, he 
may not trouble you again.” 

It’s got ten months more to run,” said she. 
** He can keep us guessin’ all that time.” 

That is so,” agreed Hiram, nodding thought- 
fully. “ But, of course, as Mr. Strickland says, by 
raising a doubt as to the validity of the option we 
can hold him off for a while — maybe until we have 
made this year’s crop.” 

It’s goin’ to make me lay awake o’ nights,” 
sighed the old lady. “And I thought I’d got 
through with that when I stopped worryin’ about 
the gravy.” 

“Well, we won’t talk about next year,” agreed 
Hiram. “ I’ll do the best I can for you through 
this season, if Pepper will let us alone. 

“ We’ve got the bottom land practically cleared ; 
we might as well plough it and put in the corn there. 
If we make a crop you’ll get all your money back 
and more. Mr. Strickland told me privately that 


193 


An Enemy in the Dark 

the option, unless it read that way, would not cover 
the crops in the ground. And I read the option 
carefully. Crops were not mentioned.” 

So it was decided to go ahead with the work as 
already planned; but neither the young farmer, nor 
his employer, could look forward cheerfully to the 
future. 

The uncertainty of what Pepper would eventually 
do was bound to be in their thought, day and night. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE WELCOME TEMPEST 

To some youths this matter of the option would 
have been such a clog that they would have lost 
interest and slighted the work. But not so with 
Hiram Strong. 

He counted this day a lost one, however; he 
hated to leave the farm for a minute when there 
was so much to do. 

But the next morning he got the plow into the 
four-acre corn lot; and he did nothing but the • 
chores that week until the ground was entirely 
plowed. Then Henry Pollock came over and gave 
him another day's work and they finished grubbing 
the lowland. 

The rubbish was piled in great heaps down there, 
ready for burning. As long as the rain held off, 
Hiram did not put fire to the bush-heaps. 

But early in the following week the clouds began 
to gather in a quarter for rain, and late in the 
afternoon, when the air was still, he took a can of 
coal oil, and with Sister and Mr. Camp, and even 
Mrs. Atterson, at his heels, went down to the river- 
side to burn the brush heaps. 

194 


The Welcome Tempest 195 

There’s not much danger of the fire spreading 
to the woods; but if it should,” Hiram said, warn- 
ingly, “ it might, at this time of year, do your 
timber a couple of hundred dollars’ worth of 
damage.” 

“ Goodness me I ” exclaimed Mother Atterson. 
‘‘ It does seem ridiculous to hear you talk that 
a- way. I never owned nothin’ but a little bit of 
furniture before, and I expected the boarders to tear 
that all to pieces. I’m beginning to feel all puffed 
up and wealthy.” 

Hiram cut them all green pine,boughs for beaters, 
and then set the fires, one after another. There 
were more than twenty of the great piles and soon 
the river bottom, from bend to bend, was filled with 
rolling clouds of smoke. As the dusk dropped, the 
yellow glare of the fire illuminated the scene. 

Sister clapped her hands and cried: 

‘‘Ain’t this bully? It beats the Fourth of July 
celebration in Crawberry. Oh, I’d rather be on the 
farm than go to heaven ! ” 

They had brought their supper with them, and 
leaving the others to watch the fires, and see that 
the grass did not tempt the flames to the edge of 
the wood, Hiram cast bait into the river and, in an 
hour, drew out enough mullet and “ bull-heads ” to 
satisfy them all, when they were broiled over the 
hot coals of the first bonfire to be lighted. 

They ate with much enjoyment. Between nine 


196 Hiram the Young Farmer 

and ten o'clock the fires had all burned down to 
coals. 

A circle of burned-over grass and rubbish sur- 
rounded each fire. There seemed no possibility that 
the flames could spread to the mat of dry leaves 
on the side hill. 

So they went home, a lantern guiding their feet 
over the rough path through the timber, stopping 
at the spring for a long, thirst-quenching draught. 

The sky was as black as ink. Now and again a 
faint flash in the westward proclaimed a tempest in 
that direction. But not a breath of wind was stir- 
ring, and the rain might not reach this section. 

A dull red glow was reflected on the clouds over 
the river-bottom. When Hiram looked from his 
window, just as he was ready for bed, that glow 
seemed to have increased. 

Strange,” he muttered. ‘‘ It can’t be that those 
fires have spread. There was no chance for them 
to spread. I — don’t — understand it! ” 

He sat at the window and stared out through 
the darkness. There was little wind as yet; it was 
a fact, however, that the firelight flickered on the 
low-hung clouds with increasing radiance. 

“ Am I mad ? ” demanded the young farmer, sud- 
denly leaping up and drawing on his garments 
again. That fire is spreading.” 

He dressed fully, and ran softly down the stairs 
and left the house. When he came out in the clear 


The Welcome Tempest 197 

the glow had not receded. There was a fire down 
the hillside, and it seemed increasing every moment. 

He remembered the enemy in the dark, and with- 
out stopping to rouse the household, ran on toward 
the woods, his heart beating heavily in his bosom- 

Slipping, falling at times, panting heavily because 
of the rough ground; Hiram came at last through 
the more open timber to the brink of that steep 
descent, at the bottom of which lay the smoky river- 
bottom. 

And indeed, the whole of the lowland seemed 
filled with stifling clouds of smoke. Yet, from a 
dozen places along the foot of the hill, yellow flames 
were starting up, kindling higher, and devouring 
as fast as might be the leaves and tinder left from 
the wrack of winter. 

The nearest bonfire had been a hundred yards 
from the foot of this hill. His care, Hiram knew, 
had left no chance of the dull coals in any of the 
twenty heaps spreading to the verge of the grove. 

Man’s hand had done this. An enemy, waiting 
and watching until they had left the field, had stolen 
down, gathered burning brands, and spread them 
along the bottom of the hill, where the increasing 
wind might scatter the fire until the whole grove 
was in a blaze. 

Not only was Mrs. Atterson’s timber in danger, 
but Darrell’s tract and that lying beyond would be 
overwhelmed by the flames if they were allowed to 
spread. 


198 Hiram the Young Farmer 

On the other side, Dickerson had cut his timber 
a year or two before, clear to the river. The fire 
would not burn far over his line. Whoever had 
done this dastardly act, Dickerson's property would 
not be damaged. 

But Hiram lent no time to trouble. His work 
was cut out for him right here and now — and well 
he knew it ! 

He had brought the small axe with him, having 
caught it up from the doorstep. Now he used it 
to cut a green bough, and then ran with the latter 
down the hill and set upon the fire-line like a mad- 
man. 

The smoke, spread here and there by puffs of ris- 
ing wind, half choked him. It stung his eyes until 
they distilled water enough to blind him. He 
thrashed and fought in the fumes and the murk 
of it, stumbling and slipping, one moment half-knee 
deep in quick-springing flames, the next almost 
overpowered by the smudge that rose from the 
beaten mat of leaves and rubbish. 

It was a lone fight. He had to do it all. There 
had been no time to rouse either the neighbors, or 
the rest of the family. 

If he did not overcome these flames — and well 
he knew it — Mother Atterson would aris^ in the 
morning to see all her goodly timber scorched, per- 
haps ruined ! 

I must beat it out — beat it out ! " thought 


The Welcome Tempest 199 

Hiram, and the repetition of the words thrummed 
an accompaniment upon the drums of his ears as he 
thrashed away with a madman’s strength. 

For no sane person would have tackled such a 
hopeless task. Before him the flames suddenly 
leaped six feet or more into the air. 

They overtopped him as they writhed through a 
clump of green-briars. The wind puffed the flame 
toward him, and his face was scorched by the heat. 

He lost his eyebrows completely, and the hair 
was crisped along the front brim of his hat. 

Then with a laughing crackle, as though scorn- 
ing his weakness, the flames ran up a climbing vine 
and the next moment wrapped a tall pine in lurid 
yellow. 

This pine, like a huge torch, began to give off a 
thick, black smoke. Would some wakeful neigh- 
boring farmer, seeing it, know the danger that 
menaced and come to Hiram’s help? 

For yards he had beaten flat the flames and 
stamped out every spark. Behind him was naught 
but rolling smoke. It was dark there. No flames 
were eating up the slope. 

But toward Darrell’s tract the fire seemed on the 
increase. He could not catch up with it. And this 
solitary, sentinel pine, ablaze now in all its head, 
threatened to fling sparks for a hundred yards. 

If the wind continued to rise, the forest was 
doomed ! 

His green branch had burned to a crisp. He had 


200 


Hiram the Young Farmer 

lost his axe in the darkness and the smoke, and now 
he tore another bough, by main strength, from its 
parent stem. 

Hiram Strong worked as though inspired; but 
to no purpose in the end. For the flames increased. 
Puff after puff of wind drove the fire on, scattering 
brands from the blazing pine; and now another, 
and another, tree caught. The glare of the con- 
flagration increased. 

He flung down the useless bough. Fire was all 
about him. He had to leap suddenly to one side 
to escape a burst of flame that had caught in a 
jungle of green-briars. 

Then, of a sudden, a crash of thunder rolled and 
reverberated through the glen. Lightning for an 
instant lit up the meadows and the river. The glare 
of it almost blinded the young farmer and, out of 
the line of fire, he sank to the earth and covered 
his eyes, seared by the sudden, compelling light. 

Again and again the thunder rolled, following the 
javelins of lightning that seemed to dart from the 
clouds to the earth. The tempest, so long muttering 
in the West, had come upon him unexpectedly, for 
he had given all his attention to the spreading fire. 

And now came the rain — no refreshing, sweet, 
saturating shower; but a thunderous, blinding fall 
of ’water that first set the burning woods to steam- 
ing and then drowned out every spark of fire on 
upland as well as lowland. 


The Welcome Tempest 201 

It was a doudbu/'st — a downpour such as Hiram 
had seldom experienced before. Exhausted, he lay 
on the bank and let the pelting rain soak him to the 
skin. 

He did not care. Half drowned by the beating 
rain, he only crowed his delight at the downpour. 

Every spark of fire was flooded out. The danger 
was past. 

He finally arose, and staggered through the down- 
pour to the house, only happy that — by a merciful 
interposition of Providence — the peril had been 
overcome. 

He tore off his clothing on the stoop, there in the 
pitch darkness, and crept up to his bedroom where 
he rubbed himself down with a crash- towel, and 
finally tumbled into bed and slept like a log till 
broad daylight. 


CHAPTER XXII 


FIRST FRUITS 

For the first time since they had come to the 
farm, Hiram was the last to get up in the house. 
And when he came down to breakfast, still tremb- 
ling from the exertion of the previous night, Mrs. 
Atterson screamed at the sight of him. 

“ For the good Land o’ Goshen ! ” she cried. 
‘‘You look like a singed chicken, Hiram Strong! 
Whatever have you been doing to yourself? ” 

He told them of the fight he had had while they 
slept. But he could talk about it jokingly now, al- 
though Sister was inclined to snivel a little over 
his danger. 

“ That Dickerson boy ought to be lashed — Nine 
and thirty lashes — none too much — This sausage is 
good — humph! — and pancakes — fit for the gods — 
But he’ll come back — do more damage — the butter, 
yes ! I want butter — and syrup, though two spreads 
is reckless extravagance — Eh? eh? can’t prove any- 
thing against that Dickerson lout? — well, mebbe 
not.” 


202 


First Fruits 


203 

So Old Lem Camp commented upon the affair. 
But Hiram could not prove that the neighbor’s boy 
had done any of these things which pointed to a 
malicious enemy. 

The young farmer began to wonder if he could 
not lay a trap, and so bring about his undoing. 

As soon as the ground was in fit condition again 
(for the night’s rain had been heavy) Hiram 
scattered the lime he had planned to use upon the 
four acres of land plowed for corn, and dragged 
it in with a spike-toothed harrow. 

Working as he was with one horse alone, this took 
considerable time, and when this corn land was 
ready, it was time for him to go through the garden 
piece again with the horse cultivator. 

Sister and Lem Camp, both, had learned to use 
the man-weight wheel-hoe, and the fine stuff was 
thinned and the weeds well cut out. From time to 
time the young farmer had planted peas — ^both the 
dwarf and taller varieties — and now he risked put- 
ting in some early beans — ‘‘ snap ” and bush limas — 
and his first planting of sweet corn. 

Of the latter he put in four rows across the 
garden, each, of sixty-five day, seventy-five day, and 
ninety day sugar corn — all of well-known kinds. 
He planned later to put in, every fortnight, four 
rows of a mid-length season corn, so as to have 
green corn for sale, and for the house, up to frost. 

The potatoes were growing finely and he hilled 


204 Hiram the Young Farmer 

them up for the first time. He marked his four- 
acre lot for field corn — cross-checking it three-feet, 
ten inches apart. This made twenty-seven hundred 
and fifty hills to the acre, and with the hand- 
planter — an ingenious but cheap machine — he 
dropped two and three kernels to the hill. 

This upland, save where he had spread coarse 
stable manure, was not rich. Upon each corn-hill 
he had Sister throw half a handful of fertilizer. 
She followed him as he used the planter, and they 
planted and fertilized the entire four acres in less 
than two days. 

The lime he had put into the land would release 
such fertility as remained'dormant there ; but Hiram 
did not expect a big crop of corn on that piece. 
If he made two good ears to the hill he would be 
satisfied. 

He had knocked together a rough cold-frame, 
on the sunny side of the woodshed, to fit some old 
sash he had found in the barn. Into the rich earth 
sifted to make the bed in this frame, he transplanted 
tomato, egg-plant, pepper and other plants of a 
delicate nature. Early cabbage and cauliflower had 
already gone into the garden plot, and in the midst 
of an early and saturating rain, all day long, he had 
transplanted table-beets into the rows he had marked 
out for them. 

This variety of vegetables were now all growing 
finely. He sold nearly six dollars’ worth of radishes 


First Fruits 


205 

in town, and these radishes he showed Mrs. Atterson 
were really ''clear profit.” They had all been 
pulled from the rows of carrots and other small 
seeds. 

There were several heavy rains after the tempest 
which had been so Providential; the ground was 
well saturated, and the river had risen until it roared 
between its banks in a voice that could he heard, 
on a still day, at the house. 

The rains started the vegetation growing by leaps 
and bounds ; weeds always increase faster than any 
other growing thing. 

There was plenty for Hiram to do in the garden, 
and he kept Sister and Old Lem Camp busy, too. 
They were at it from the first faint streak of light 
in the morning until dark. 

But they were well — and happy. Mother Atter- 
son, her heart troubled by thought of " that Pepper- 
man,” could not always repress her smiles. If the 
danger of losing the farm were past, she would 
have had nothing in the world to trouble her. 

The hundred eggs she had purchased for five 
dollars had proven more than sixty per cent fertile. 
Some advice that Hiram had given her enabled 
Mrs. Atterson to handle the chickens so that the 
loss from disease was very small. 

He knocked together for her a couple of pens, 
eight feet square, which could be moved about 
on the grass every day. In these pens the seventy, 


2 o 6 Hiram the Young Farmer 

or more, chicks thrived immensely. And Sister 
was devoted to them. 

Meanwhile the old white-faced cow, that had 
been a terror to Mother Atterson at the start, had 
found her calf, and it was a heifer. 

“ Take my advice and raise it,” said Hiram. 
‘‘She is a scrub, but she is a pretty good scrub. 
You’ll see that she will give a good measure of 
milk. And what this farm needs is cattle. 

“If you could make stable manure enough to 
cover the cleared acres a foot deep, you could raise 
almost any crop you might name — and make money 
by it. The land is impoverished by the use of com- 
mercial fertilizers, unbalanced by humus.” 

“Well, I guess you know, Hiram,” admitted 
Mrs Atterson. “ And that calf certainly is a pretty 
creeter. It would be too bad to turn it into veal.” 

Hiram did not intend to raise the calf expensively, 
however. He took it away from its mother right 
at the start, and in two weeks it was eating grass, 
and guzzling skimmed milk and calf-meal, while the 
old cow was beginning to show her employer her 
value. 

Mrs. Atterson bought a small churn and quickly 
learned that “ slight ” at butter-making which is 
absolutely essential if one would succeed in the 
dairy business. 

The cow turned out to pasture early in May, too ; 
so her keep was not so heavy a burden. She lowed 


First Fruits 


207 


some after the calf; but the latter was growing 
finely under Hiram’s care, and Mrs. Atterson had 
at least two pounds of butter for sale each week, 
and the housekeeper at the St. Beris school paid 
her thirty-five cents a pound for it. 

Hiram gradually picked up a retail route in the 
town, which customers paid more for the surplus 
vegetables — and butter — than could be obtained at 
the stores. He had taught Sister how to drive, and 
sometimes even Mrs. Atterson went in with the 
vegetables. 

This relieved the young farmer and allowed him 
to work in the fields. And during these warm, 
growing May days, he found plenty to do. Just 
as the field corn pushed through the ground he went 
into the lot with his 14-tooth harrow and broke up 
the crust and so killed the ever-springing weeds. 

With the spikes on the harrow “ set back,” no 
corn-plants were dragged out of the ground. This 
first harrowing, too, mixed the fertilizer with the 
soil, and gave the corn the start it so sadly needed. 

Busy as bees, the four transplanted people at the 
Atterson farmhouse accomplished a great deal dur- 
ing these first weeks of the warming season. And 
all four of them — Mrs. Atterson, Sister, Old Lem, 
and Hiram himself — enjoyed the work to the full. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


TOMATOES AND TROUBLE 

Hiram Strong had decided that the market pros- 
pects of Scoville prophesied a good price for early 
tomatoes. He advised, therefore, a good sized 
patch of this vegetable. 

He had planted in' the window boxes seed of 
several different varieties. He had transplanted 
to the coldframe strong plants num.bering nearly 
five hundred. He believed that, under garden culti- 
vation, a tomato plant that would not yield fifty 
cents’ worth of fruit was not worth bothering with, 
while a dollar from a single plant was not beyond 
the bounds of probability. 

It was safe, Hiram very well knew, to set out 
tomato plants in this locality much before the middle 
of May; yet he was willing to take some risks, and 
go to some trouble, for the sake of getting early 
ripened tomatoes into the Scoville market. 

As Henry Pollock had prophesied, Hiram did 
not see much of his friend during corn-planting 
time. The Pollocks put nearly fifty acres in corn, 
and the whole family helped in the work, including 
208 


Tomatoes and Trouble 


209 


Mrs. Pollock herself, and down to the child next to 
the baby. This little toddler amused his younger 
brother, and brought water to the field for the 
workers. 

Other families in the neighborhood did the same, 
Hiram noticed. They all strained every effort 10 
put in corn, cultivating as big a crop as they possibly 
could handle. 

This was why locally grown vegetables were 
scarce in Scoville. And the young farmer proposed 
to take advantage of this condition of affairs to the 
best of his ability. 

If they were only to remain here on the farm long 
enough to handle this one crop, Hiram determined 
to make that crop pay his employer as well as 
possible, although he, himself, had no share in such 
profit. 

Henry Pollock, however, came along while Hiram 
was making ready his plat in the garden for toma- 
toes. The young farmer was setting several rows 
of two-inch thick stakes across the garden, sixteen 
feet apart in the row, the rows four feet apart. 
The stakes themselves were about four feet out of 
the ground. 

‘‘What ye doin' there, Hiram?" asked Henry, 
curiously. “ Building a fence ? " 

“Not exactly." 

“ Ain't goin' to have a chicken run out here in 
the garden, be ye? " 


210 


Hiram the Young Farmer 

“ I should hope not ! The chickens on this place 
will never mix with the garden trucks, if I have my 
say about it,” declared Hiram, laughing. 

“ By Jo! ” exclaimed Henry. Dad says Maw’s 
dratted hens eat up a couple hundred dollars’ worth 
of corn and clover every year for him — runnin’ 
loose as they do.” 

Why doesn’t he build your mother proper runs, 
then, plant green stuff in several yards, and change 
the flock over, from yard to yard? ” 

‘‘ Oh, hens won’t do well shut up; Maw says so,” 
said Hiram, repeating the lazy farmer’s unfounded 
declaration — probably originated ages ago, when 
poultry was first domesticated. 

I’ll show you, next year, if we are around here,” 
said Hiram, “ whether poultry will do well enclosed 
in yards.” 

“ I told mother you didn’t let your chickens run 
free, and had no hens with them,” said Henry, 
thoughtfully. 

No. I do not believe in letting anything on a 
farm get into lazy habits. A hen is primarily in- 
tended to lay eggs. I send them back to work when 
they have hatched out their brood. 

“ Those home-made brooders of ours keep the 
chicks quite as warm, and never peck the little fel- 
lows, or step upon them, as the old hen often does.” 

“That’s right, I allow,” admitted Henry, grin- 
ning broadly. 


Tomatoes and Trouble 


2II 


“ And some hens will traipse chicks through the 
grass and weeds as far as turkeys. No, sir! Send 
the hens back to business, and let the chicks shift 
for themselves. They’ll do better.” 

“ Them there in the pens certainly do look 
healthy,” said his friend. '' But you ain’t said what 
you was doin’ here, Hiram, setting these stakes?” 

‘‘ Why, I’ll tell you,” returned Hiram. “ This is 
my tomato patch.” 

''By Jo!” ejaculated Henry. "You don’t want 
to set tomatoes so fur apart, do you? ” 

" No, no,” laughed Hiram. " The posts are to 
string wires on. The tomatoes will be two feet 
apart in the row. As they grow I tie them to the 
wires, and so keep the fruit off the ground. 

" The tomato ripens better and more evenly, and 
the fruit will come earlier, especially if I pinch back 
the ends of the vine from time to time, and remove 
some of the side branches.” 

" We don’t do all that to raise a tomato crop. 
And we’ll put in five acres for the cannery this year, 
as usual,” said Henry, with some scorn. 

" We run the rows out four feet apart, like you 
do, throwing up a list, in fact. Then father goes 
ahead with a stick, making a hole for the plant 
every three feet, so’t they’ll be check-rowed and we 
can cultivate them both ways — and we all set the 
plants. 

"We never hand-hoe ’em — it don’t pay. The 


212 Hiram the Young Farmer 

cannery isn’t giving but fifteen cents a basket this 
year — and it’s got to be a full five-eighths basket, 
too, for they weigh ’em.” 

Hiram looked at him with a quizzical smile. 

“ So you set about thirty-six hundred and forty 
plants to the acre ? ” he said. 

I reckon so.” 

‘‘And you’ll have five acres of tomatoes?” 

“ Yep. So Dad says. He has contracted for that 
many. But our plants don’t begin to be big enough 
to set out yet. We have to keep ’em covered nights.” 

“ And I expect to have about five hundred plants 
in this patch,” said Hiram, smiling. “ I tell you 
what, Henry.” 

“ Huh? ” said the other boy. 

“ I bet I take in from my patch — net income, I 
mean — this year as much as your father gets at the 
cannery for his whole crop.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” cried Henry. “ Mebbe Dad’ll make 
a hundred, or a hundred and twenty-five dollars. 
Sometimes tomatoes run as high as thirty dollars 
an acre around here.” 

“ Wait and see,” said Hiram, laughing. “ It is 
going to cost me more to raise my crop, and market 
it, that’s true. But if your father doesn’t do bet- 
ter with his five acres than you say. I’ll beat him.” 

“ You can’t do it, Hiram,” cried Henry. 

“ I can try, anyway,” said Hiram, more quietly, 
but with confidence. “ We’ll see.” 


Tomatoes and Trouble 


213 


“ And say/’ Henry added, suddenly, “ I was going 
to tell you something. You won’t raise these to- 
matoes — nor no other crop — if Pete Dickerson can 
stop ye.” 

What’s the matter with Pete now ? ” asked 
Hiram, troubled by thought of the secret enemy who 
had already struck at him in the dark. 

“ He was blowing about what he’d do to you 
down at the crossroads last evening,” said Henry. 

He and his father both hate you like poison, I ex- 
pect. 

“ And the fellers down to Cale Schell’s are always 
stirrin’ up trouble. They think it is sport. Why, 
Pete got so mad last night he could ha’ chewed 
tacks ! ” 

“ I have said nothing about Pete to anybody,” 
said Hiram, firmly. 

“ That don’t matter. They say you have. They 
tell Pete a whole lot of stuff just to see him git 
riled. 

“ And last night he slopped over. He said if you 
reported around that he put fire to Mis’ Atterson’s 
woods, he’d put it to the house and barns ! Oh, he 
was wild.” 

Hiram’s face flushed, and then paled. 

Did Pete try to burn the woods, Hiram?” 
queried Henry, shrewdly. 

I never even said I thought so to you, have I ? ” 
asked the young farmer, sternly. 


214 Hiram the Young Farmer 

“ Nope. I only heard that fire got into the woods 
by accident, when I was in town. Somebody was 
hunting through there for coon, and saw the burned- 
over place. That’s all the fellers at Gale’s place 
knew, too, I reckon; but they jest put it up to Pete 
to mad him.” 

And they succeeded, did they ? ” said Hiram, 
sternly. 

“ I reckon.” 

‘‘ Loose-mouthed people make more trouble in a 
, community than downright mean ones,” declared 
Hiram. “If I have any serious trouble with the 
Dickersons, like enough it will be because of the 
interference of the other neighbors.” 

“ But,” said Henry, preparing to go on, “ Pete 
wouldn’t dare fire your stable now — after say in’ 
he’d do it. He ain’t quite so big a fool as all that.” 

But Hiram was not so sure. He had this addi- 
tional trouble on his mind from this very hour, 
though he never said a word to Mrs. Atterson 
about it. 

But every night before he went to bed he made 
a round of the outbuildings to make sure that every- 
thing was right before he slept. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


CORN that’s corn ” 

Hiram caught sight of Pepper in town one day 
and went after him. He knew the real estate man 
had returned from his business trip, and the fact 
that the matter of the option was hanging fire, and 
troubling Mrs. Atterson exceedingly, urged Hiram 
go counter to Mr. Strickland’s advice. 

The lawyer had said : Let sleeping dogs lie.” 
Pepper had made no move, however, and the uncer- 
tainty was very trying both for the young farmer 
and his employer. 

“ How about that option you talked about, Mr. 
Pepper?” asked the youth. “Are you going to ex- 
ercise it? ” 

“ I’ve got time enough, ain’t I ? ” returned the real 
estate man, eyeing Hiram in his very slyest way. 

“ I expect you have — if it really runs a year.” 

“You seen it, didn’t you?” demanded Pepper. 

“ But we’d like Mr. Strickland to see it.” 

“ He’s goin’ to act for Mrs. Atterson? ” queried 
the man, with a scowl. 

“Oh, yes.” 


215 


2 i 6 Hiram the Young Farmer 

Well, he’ll see it — when I’m ready to take it up. 
Don’t you fret,” retorted Pepper, and turned away. 

This did not encourage the young farmer, nor 
was there anything in the man’s manner to yield 
hope to Mrs. Atterson that she could feel secure in 
her title to the farm. So Hiram said nothing to her 
about meeting the man. 

But the youth was very much puzzled. It really 
did seem as though Pepper was afraid to show that 
paper to Mr.. Strickland. 

There’s something queer about it, I believe,” de- 
clared the youth, to himself. Somewhere there is 
a trick. He’s afraid of being tripped up on it. 
But, why does he wait, if he knows the railroad is 
going to demand a strip of the farm and he can get 
a good price for it? 

'' Perhaps he is waiting to make sure that the 
railroad will condemn a piece of Mrs. Atterson’s 
farm. If the board should change the route again. 
Pepper would have a farm on his hands that he 
might not be able to sell immediately at a profit. 

“ For we must confess, that sixteen hundred dol- 
lars, as farms have sold in the past around here, is 
a good price for the Atterson place. That’s why 
Uncle Jeptha was willing to give an option for a 
month — if that was, in the beginning, the under- 
standing the old man had of his agreement with 
Pepper. 

‘‘ However, we might as well go ahead with the 


“ Corn That’s Com ” 


217 


work, and take what comes to us in the end. I know 
no other way to do,” quoth Hiram, with a sigh. 

For he could not be very cheerful with the pros- 
pect of making only a single crop on the place. His 
profit was to have come out of the second year’s 
crop — and, he felt, out of that bottom land which 
had so charmed him on the day he and Henry Pol- 
lock had gone over the Atterson Place. 

Riches lay buried in that six acres of bottom. 
Hiram had read up on onion culture, and he be- 
lieved that, if he planted his seed in hot beds, and 
transplanted the young onions to the rich soil in 
this bottom, he could raise fully as large onions as 
they did in either Texas or the Bermudas. 

Of course, they have the advantage of a longer 
season down there,” thought Hiram, '^and cheap 
labor. But maybe I can get cheap labor right 
around here. The children of these farmers are 
used to working in the fields. I ought to be able 
to get help pretty cheap. 

And when it comes to the market — why, Pve 
got the Texas growers, at least, skinned a mile ! I 
can reach either the Philadelphia or New York 
market in a day. Yes; given the right conditions, 
onions ought to pay big down there on that low- 
land.” 

But this was not the only crop possibility he 
turned over in his mind. There were other vege- 
tables that would grow luxuriantly on that bottom 


2 i 8 Hiram the Young Farmer 

land — providing, always, the flood did not come and 
fulfill Henry Pollock’s prophecy. 

‘‘Two feet of water on that meadow, eh? 
thought Hiram. “ Well, that certainly would be 
bad. I wouldn’t want that to happen after the 
ground was plowed this year, even. It would 
tear up the land, and sour it, and spoil it for a corn- 
crop, indeed.” 

So he was down a good deal to the river’s edge, 
watching the ebb and flow of the stream. A heavy 
rain would, over night, fill the river to its very brim 
and the open field, even beyond the marshy spot, 
would be a-slop with standing water. 

“ It sure wouldn’t grow alfalfa,” chuckled Hiram 
to himself one day. “For the water rises here a 
good deal closer to the surface than four feet, and 
alfalfa farmers declare that if the springs rise that 
high, there is no use in putting in alfalfa. Why ! I 
reckon just now the water is within four inches of 
the top of the ground.” 

If the river remained so high, and the low ground 
so saturated with water, he knew, too, that he could 
not get the six acres plowed in time to put in corn 
this year. And it was this year’s crop he must think 
about first. 

Even if Pepper did not exercise his option, and 
turn Mrs. Atterson out of the place, a big commer- 
cial crop of onions, or any other better-paying crop, 
could only be tried the second year. 


Corn That’s Corn ” 


219 


Hiram had got his seed corn for the upland piece 
of the man who raised the best corn in the com- 
munity. He had tried the fertility of each ear, dis- 
carded those which proved weakly, or infertile, and 
his stand of corn for the four acres, which was now 
half hand high, was the best of any farmer be- 
tween the Atterson place and town. 

But this corn was a hundred-and-ten-day variety. 
The farmer he got it of told him that he had raised 
a crop from a piece planted the day before the 
Fourth of July; but it was safer to get it in at least 
by June fifteenth. 

And here it was past June first, and the meadow 
land had not yet been plowed. 

“ However,” Hiram said to Henry, when they 
walked down to the riverside on Sunday afternoon, 
'' Fm going ahead on Faith — just as the minister 
said in church this morning. If Faith can move 
mountains, we’ll give it a chance to move something 
right down here.” 

“ I dunno, Hiram,” returned the other boy, 
shaking his head. ‘‘ Father says he’ll git in here 
for you with three head and a Number 3 9I0W by 
the middle of this week if you say so — ’nless it rains 
again, of course. But he’s afeared you’re goin’ to 
waste Mrs. Atterson’s money for her.” 

‘ Nothing ventured, nothing gained,’ ” quoted 
Hiram, grimly. “ If a farmer didn’t take chances 
every year, the whole world would starve to death ! ” 


220 Hiram the Young Farmer 

Well,” returned Henry, smiling too, ‘‘ let the 
other feller take the chances — that’s dad’s motter.” 

Yes. And the ^ chancey ’ fellow skims the cream 
of things every time. No, sir! ” declared the young 
fellow, I’m going to be among the cream-skim- 
mers, or I won’t be a farmer at all.” 

So the plow was put into the bottom-land Wed- 
nesday — and put in deep. By Friday night the 
whole piece was plowed and partly harrowed. 

Hiram had drawn lime for this bottom-land, pro- 
posing to use beside only a small amount of ferti- 
lizer. He spread this lime from his one-horse 
wagon, while Henry drag-harrowed behind him, 
and by Saturday noon the job was done. 

The horses had not mired at all, much to Mr. 
Pollock’s surprise. And the plow had bit deep. 
All the heavy sod of the piece was covered well, and 
the seed bed was fairly level — for corn. 

Although the Pollocks did not work on Saturday 
afternoon, Hiram did not feel as though he could 
stop at this time. Most of the farmers had already 
planted their last piece of corn. Monday would be 
the fifteenth of the month. 

So the young farmer got his home-made corn- 
row marker down to the river-bottom and began 
marking the piece that afternoon. 

This marker ran out three rows at each trip 
across the field, and with a white stake at either end, 
the youth managed to run his rows very straight. 
He had a good eye. 


Corn That’s Corn ” 


221 . 


In this case he did not check-row his field. The 
land was rich — phenomenally rich, he believed. If 
he was going to have a crop of corn here, he wanted 
a crop worth while. 

On the uplands the farmers were satisfied with 
from thirty to fifty baskets of ear-corn to the acre. 
If this lowland was what he believed it was, Hiram 
was sure it would make twice that. 

And at that his corn crop here would only average 
twenty-five dollars to the acre — not a phenomenal 
profit for Mrs. Atterson in that. 

But the land would be getting into a shape for 
a better crop, and although corn is a crop that will 
soon impoverish ground, if planted year after year 
on the same piece, Hiram knew that the humus in 
this soil on the lowland was almost inexhaustible. 

So he marked his rows the long way of the field — 
running with the river. 

One of the implements left by Uncle Jeptha had 
been a one-horse corn-planter with a fertilizer at- 
tachment. Hiram used this, dropping two or three 
grains twenty-four inches apart, and setting the fer- 
tilizer attachment to one hundred and fifty pounds 
to the acre. 

He was until the next Wednesday night planting 
the piece. Meanwhile it had not rained, and the 
river continued to recede. It was now almost as low 
as it had been the day Lettie Bronson’s boating 
party had been wrecked ” under the big sycamore, 


222 


Hiram the Young Farmer 

Hiram had not seen the Bronsons for some weeks, 
but about the time he got his late corn planted, Mr. 
Bronson drove into the Atterson yard, and found 
Hiram cultivating his first corn with the five-tooth 
cultivator. 

“Well, well, Hiram!” exclaimed the Westerner, 
looking with a broad smile over the field. “ That’s 
as pretty a field of corn as I ever saw. I don’t be- 
lieve there is a hill missing.” 

“ Only a few on the far edge, where the moles 
have been at work.” 

“ Moles don’t eat corn, Hiram.” 

“ So they say,” returned the young farmer, 
quietly. “ I never could make up my mind about it. 

“ I’m sure, however, that if they are only after 
slugs and worms which are drawn to the corn hills 
by the commercial fertilizer, the moles do fully as 
much damage as the slugs would. 

“ You see, they make a cavity under the corn hill, 
and the roots of the plant wither. Excuse me, but 
I’d rather have Mr. Mole in somebody else’s 
garden.” 

Mr. Bronson laughed. “ Well, what the little 
gray fellows eat won’t kill us. But they do spoil 
otherwise handsome rows. How did you get such*a 
good stand of corn, Hiram?” 

“ I tested the seed in a seed box early in the spring. 
I wouldn’t plant corn any other way. Aside from 
the hills the moles have spoiled, and a few an old 
crow pulled up, Tve got no re-planting to do. 


Corn That’s Corn ” 


223 


‘‘ And replanted hills are always behind the crop, 
and seldom make anything but fodder. If it wasn’t 
for the look of the field, I’d never re-plant a hill of 

corn. 

‘‘Of course, I’ve got to thin this — two grains in 
the hill is enough on this land.” 

Mr. Bronson looked at him with growing sur- 
prise. 

“ Why, my boy, you talk just as though you had 
tilled the ground for a score of years. Who taught 
you so much about farming? ” 

“ One of the best farmers who ever lived,” said 
Hiram, with a smile. “ My father. And he taught 
me to go to the correct sources for information, 
too.” 

“ I believe you ! ” exclairned Mr. Bronson. “ And 
you’re going to have ‘ corn that’s corn ’, as we say 
in my part of the country, on this piece of land.” 

“ Wait ! ” said Hiram, smiling and shaking his 
head. 

“ Wait for what? ” 

“ Wait till you see the corn on my bottom-land — 
if the river down there doesn’t drown it out. If we 
don’t have too much rain. I’m going to have corn on 
that river-bottom that will beat anything in this 
county, Mr. Bronson.” 

And the young farmer spoke with assurance. 


CHAPTER XXV 


THE BARBECUE 

On the seventeenth day of June Hiram had 
“ grappled out ” a mess of potatoes for their dinner. 
They were larger than hen's eggs and came upon 
the table mealy and white. 

Potatoes were selling at retail in Scoville for two 
dollars the bushel. Before the end of that week — 
after the lowland corn was planted — Hiram dug 
two rows of potatoes, sorted them, and carted them 
to town, together with some bunched beets, a few 
bunches of young carrots, radishes and salad. 

The potatoes he sold for fifty cents the five- 
eighth basket, from house to house, and he brought 
back, for his load of vegetables, ten dollars and 
twenty cents, which he handed to Mrs. Atterson, 
much to that lady’s joy. 

“My soul and body, Hiram!” she exclaimed. 
“ This is just a God-send — no less. Do you know 
that we’ve sold nigh twenty-five dollars’ worth of 
stuff already this spring, besides that pair of pigs I 
let Pollock have, and the butter to St. Beris ? ” 

“And it’s only a beginning,” Hiram told her. 

224 


The Barbecue 


225 


“Wait till the peas come along — we’ll have a mess 
for the table in a few days now. And the sweet 
corn and tomatoes. 

“If you and Sister can do the selling, it will help 
out a whole lot, of course. I wish we had another 
horse.” 

“ Or an automobile,” said Sister, clapping her 
hands. “ Wouldn’t it be fine to run into town in an 
auto, with a lot of vegetables? Then Hiram could 
keep right at work with the horse and not have to 
stop to harness up for us.” 

“ Shucks, child ! ” admonished Mrs. Atterson. 
“ What big idees you do get in that noddle o’ 
yourn.” 

The girls’ boarding school and the two hotels 
proved good customers for Hiram’s early vege- 
tables; for nobody around Scoville had potatoes at 
this time, and Hiram’s early peas were two weeks 
ahead of other people’s. 

Having got a certain number of towns folks to 
expect him at least thrice a week, when other farm- 
ers had green stuff for sale they could not easily 
“ cut out ” Hiram later in the season. 

And not always did the young farmer have to 
leave his work at home to deliver. the vegetables and 
Mrs. Atterson’s butter. Sister, or the old lady her- 
self, could go to town if the load was not too 
heavy. 

Of course, it cost considerable to live. And hog- 


226 Hiram the young Farmer 

food and grain for the horse and cow had to be 
bought. Hiram was fattening four of the spring 
shoats against winter. Two they could sell and 
two kill for their own use. 

“ Goin’ to be big doin’s on the Fourth this year, 
Hiram,” said Henry Pollock, meeting the young 
farmer on the road from town one day. Heard 
about it?” 

“In Scoville, do you mean? They’re going to 
have a ‘ Safe and Sane ’ Fourth, the Banner says.” 

“ Nope. We don’t think much of goin’ to town 
Fourth of July. And this year there’s goin’ to be 
a big picnic in Langdon’s Grove — that’s up the river, 
you know.” 

“ A public picnic? ” 

“ Sure. A barbecue, we call it,” said Henry. 
“We have one at the Grove ev’ry year. This time 
the two Sunday Schools is goin’ to join and have a 
big time. You and Sister don’t want to miss it. 
That Mr. Bronson’s goin’ to give a whole side o’ 
beef, they tell me, to roast over the fires.” 

“A big banquet is in prospect, is it?” asked 
Hiram, smiling. 

“ And a stew ! Gee ! you never eat one o’ these 
barbecue stews, did ye ? Some of us will go huntin’ 
the day before, and there’ll be birds, and squirrels, 
as well as chickens in that stew — and lima beans, 
and corn, and everything good you can think of ! ” 
and Henry smacked his lips in prospect. 


The Barbecue 


227 


Then he added, bethinking himself of his errand : 

Everybody chips in and gives the things to eat. 
What’ll yon give, Hiram ? ” 

Some vegetables,” said Hiram, quickly. ‘‘ Mrs. 
Atterson won’t object, I guess. Do they want toma- 
toes for their stew? ” 

Won’t be no tomatoes ripe, Hiram,” said Henry, 
decidedly. 

‘‘There won’t, eh? You come out and take a 
look at mine,” said Hiram, laughing. 

Of all the rows of vegetables in Hiram’s garden 
plot, the thriftiest and handsomest were the trellised 
tomato plants. It took nearly half of Sister’s time 
to keep the plants tied up and pinched back, as 
Hiram had taught her. 

But the stalks were already heavily laden with 
fruit; and those hanging lowest on the sturdy vines 
were already blushing. 

“ By Jo ! ” gasped Henry. “ You’ve done it, ain’t 
you ? But the cannery won’t take ’em yet awhile — 
and they’ll all be gone before September.” 

“ The cannery won’t get many of my tomatoes,” 
laughed Hiram. “ And these vines properly trained 
and cultivated as they are, will bear fruit up to 
frost. You wait and see.” 

“ I’ll have to tell dad to come and look at these. 
I dunno, Hiram, if you can sell ’em at retail, but 
you’ll git as much for ’em as dad does for his whole 
crop — just as you said.” 


228 Hiram the Young Farmer 

“ That’s what Fm aiming for,” responded Hiram. 

But would the ladies who cook the barbecue stew 
care for tomatoes, do you think?” 

“ We never git tomatoes this early,” said Henry. 
“ How about potatoes? And there ain’t many folks 
dug any of theirn yet, but you.” 

So, after speaking with Mrs. Atterson, Hiram 
agreed to supply a barrel of potatoes for the barbe- 
cue, and the day before the Fourth, one of the 
farmers came with a wagon to pick up the supplies. 

Everybody at the Atterson farm would go to the 
grove — that was understood. 

“If one knocks off work, the others can,” de- 
clared Mother Atterson. “ You see that things is 
left all right for the critters, Hiram, and we’ll tend 
to things indoors so that we can be gone till night.” 

“ And do, Hiram, look out for my poults the last 
thing,” cried Sister. 

Mrs. Larriper had given Sister a setting of ten 
turkey eggs and every one of them had hatched 
under one of Mrs. Atterson’s motherly old hens. At 
first the girl had kept the young turkeys and their 
foster mother right near the house, so that she could 
watch them carefully. 

But poults are rangy, and these being particularly 
strong and thrifty, they soon ran the old hen pretty 
nearly to death. 

So Hiram had built a coop into which they could 
go at night, safe from any vermin, and set it far 


The Barbecue 


229 

down in the east lot, near the woods. Sister usually 
went down with a little grain twice a day to call 
them up, and keep them tame. 

“ But when they get big enough to roost in the 
fall, I expect we’ll have to gather that crop with a 
gun,” Hiram told her, laughing. 

Adany of the farmers’ teams were strung out along 
the road long before Hiram was ready to set out. 
He had made sure that the spring wagon was in 
good shape, and he had built an extra seat for it, so 
that the four rode very comfortably. 

Like every other Fourth of July, the sun was 
broiling hot! And the dust rose in clouds as the 
faster teams passed their slow old nag. 

Mrs. Atterson sat up very primly in her best silk, 
holding a parasol and wearing a pair of lace mits 
that had appeared on state occasions for the past 
twenty years, at least. 

Sister was growing like a weed, and it was hard 
to keep her skirts and sleeves at a proper length. 
But she was an entirely different looking girl from 
the boarding house slavey whom Hiram remem- 
bered so keenly back in Crawberry. 

As for .Old Lem Camp, he was as cheerful as 
Hiram had ever seen him, and showed a deal of in- 
terest in everything about the farm, and had proved 
himself, as Mrs. Atterson had prophesied, a great 
help. 

Scarcely a house along the road was not shut up 


230 Hiram the Young Farmer 

and the dooryard deserted — for everybody was go- 
ing to the barbecue. All but the Dickerson family. 

Sam was at work in the fields, and the haggard 
Mrs. Dickerson looked dumbly from her porch, with 
a crying baby in her scrawny arms as the Attersons 
and Hiram passed. 

But Pete was at the barbecue. He was there 
when Hiram arrived, and he was making himself 
quite as prominent as anybody. 

Indeed, he made himself so obnoxious finally, that 
one of the rough men who was keeping up the fires 
threatened ' to chuck Pete into the biggest one, and 
then cool him off in the river. 

Otherwise, however, the barbecue passed off very 
pleasantly. The men who governed it saw that no 
liquor was brought along, and the unruly element to 
which Pete belonged was kept under with an iron 
hand. 

There was so little fun ”, of a kind, in Pete’s 
estimation that, after the big event of the day — 
the banquet — he and some of his friends disap- 
peared. And the picnicking ground was a much 
quieter and pleasanter place after their departure. 

The newcomers into the community made many 
friends and acquaintances that day. Sister was 
going to school in the fall, and she found many girls 
of her age whom she would meet there. 

Mrs. Atterson met the older ladies, and was in- 
vited to join no less than two Ladies’ Aids ”, and. 


The Barbecue 


231 


as she said, “ if she called on all the folks she’d 
agreed to visit, she’d be goin’ ev’ry day from then 
till Christmas ! ” 

As for Hiram, the men and older boys were rather 
inclined to jolly him a bit. Not many of them had 
been upon the Atterson place to see what he had 
done, but they had heard some stories of his pro- 
posed crops that amused them. 

When Mr. Bronson, however, whom the local 
men knew to be a big farmer in the Middle West, 
and who owned many farms out there now, spoke 
favorably of Hiram’s work, the local men listened 
respectfully. 

‘‘ The boy’s got it in him to do something,” the 
Westerner said, in his hearty fashion. You’re 
eating his potatoes now, I understand. Which one 
of you can dig early potatoes like those? 

“ And he’s got the best stand of corn in the 
county.” 

“On that river-bottom, you mean?” asked one. 

“ And on the upland, too. You fellows want to 
look about you a little. Most of you don’t see 
beyond the end of your noses. You watch out, or 
Hiram Strong is going to beat every last one of you 
this year — and that’s a run-down farm he’s got, at 
that.” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


sister’s turkeys 

But Lettie was not at the barbecue, and to tell 
the truth, Hiram Strong was disappointed. 

Despite the fact that she had seemed inclined to 
snub him, the young farmer was vastly taken with 
the pretty girl. He had seen nobody about Scoville 
as attractive as Lettie — nor anywhere else, for that 
matter ! 

He was too proud to call at the Bronson place, al- 
though Mr. Bronson invited him whenever he saw 
Hiram. And at first, Lettie had asked him to 
come, too. 

But the Western girl did not like being thwarted 
in any matter — even the smallest. And when Hiram 
would not come to take Pete Dickerson’s place, the 
very much indulged girl had showed the young 
farmer that she was offended. 

However, the afternoon at Langdon’s Grove 
passed very pleasantly, and Hiram and his party 
did not arrive at the farm again until dusk had 
fallen. 

I’ll go down and shut your turkeys up for the 
night. Sister,” Hiram said, after he had done the 
232 


Sister’s Turkeys 233 

other chores, for he knew the girl would be afraid 
to go so far from the house by lantern-light. 

And when he reached the turkey coop, ’way down 
in the field, Hiram was very glad indeed that he had 
come instead of the girl. 

For the coop was empty. There wasn’t a turkey 
inside, or thereabout. It had been dark an hour and 
more, then, and the poults should long since have 
been hovered in the coop. 

Had some marauding fox, or other “varmint”, 
run the young turkeys off their reservation ? That 
seemed improbable at this time of year — and so 
early in the evening. Foxes do not usually go hunt- 
ing before midnight, nor do other predatory animals. 

Hiram had brought the barn lantern with him, 
and he took a look around the neighborhood of the 
empty coop. 

“ My goodness ! ” he mused, “ Sister will cry her 
eyes out if anything’s happened to those little turks. 
Now, what’s this?” 

The ground was cut up at a little distance from 
the coop. He examined the tracks closely. 

They were fresh — very fresh indeed. The wheel' 
tracks of a light wagon showed, and the prints of a 
horse’s shod hoofs. 

The wagon had been driven down from the main 
road, and had turned sharply here by the coop. 
Hiram knew, too, that it had stood there for some 
time, for the horse had moved uneasily. 


234 Hiram the Young Farmer 

Of course, that proved the driver had gotten out 
of the wagon and left the horse alone. Doubtless 
there was but one thief — for it was positive that the 
turkeys had been removed by a two-footed — not a 
four-footed — marauder. 

“ And who would be mean enough to steal Sis- 
ter’s turkeys? Almost everybody in the neighbor- 
hood has a few to fatten for Thanksgiving and 
Christmas. Who — did — this?” 

He followed the wheel marks of the w^agon to the 
road. He saw the track where it turned into the 
field, and where it turned out again. And it showed 
plainly that the thief came from town, and returned 
in that direction. 

Of course, in the roadway it was impossible to 
trace the particular tracks made by the thief’s horse 
and wagon. Too many other vehicles had been over 
the road within the past hour. 

The thief must have driven into the field just 
after night-fall, plucked the ten young turkeys, one 
by one, out of the coop, tying their feet and flinging 
them into the bottom of his wagon. Covered with 
a bag, the frightened turkeys would never utter a 
peep while it remained dark. 

I hate to tell Sister — I can’t tell her,” Hiram 
said, as he went slowly back to the house. 

For Sister had been “ counting chickens ” again, 
and she had figured that, at eighteen cents per 
pound, live weight, the ten turkeys would pay for 


Sister’s Turkeys 235 

all the clothes she would need that winter, and give 
her “ Christmas money ”, too. 

The young farmer shrank from meeting the girl 
again that night, and he delayed going into the 
house as long as possible. Then he found they had 
all retired, leaving him a cold supper at the end of 
the kitchen table. 

The disappearance of the turkeys kept Hiram 
tossing, wakeful, upon his bed for some hours. He 
could not fail to connect this robbery with the other 
things that had been done, during the past weeks, 
to injure those living at the Atterson farm. 

Was the secret enemy really Peter Dickerson? 
And had Pete committed this crime now? 

Yet the horse and wagon had come from the di- 
rection opposite the Dickerson farm, and had re- 
turned as it came. 

“ I don’t know whether I am accusing that fellow 
wrongfully, or not,” muttered Hiram, at last. ‘‘ But 
I am going to find out. Sister isn’t going to lose 
her turkeys without my doing everything in my 
power to get them back and punish the thief.” 

He usually arose in the morning before anybody 
else was astir, so it was easy for Hiram to slip out 
of the house and down to the field to the empty 
turkey coop. 

The marks of horse and wagon were quite as 
plain in the faint light of dawn as they had been 
the night before. In the darkness the thief had 


236 Hiram the Young Farmer 

driven his wagon over some small stumps, amid 
which his horse had scrambled in some difficulty, it 
was plain. 

Hiram, tracing out these marks as a Red Indian 
follows a trail, saw something upon the edge of one 
of the half-decayed stumps that interested him 
greatly. 

He stood up the next moment with this clue in 
his hand — a white, coarse hair, perhaps four inches 
in length. 

“ That was scraped off the horse’s fetlock as he 
scrambled over this stump,” muttered Hiram. 
“ Now, who drives a white horse, or a horse with 
white feet, in this neighborhood? 

“ Can I narrow the search down in this way, I 
wonder?” and for some moments the youth stood 
there, in the growing light of early morning, can- 
vassing the subject from that angle. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


RUN TO EARTH 

A BROAD streak of crimson along the eastern 
horizon, over the treetops, announced the coming of 
the sun when Hiram Strong reached the automobile 
road to which he, on the previous night, had traced 
the thief that had stolen Sister’s poults. 

Now he looked at the track again. It surely had 
come from the direction of Scoville, and it turned 
back that way. 

Yet he looked at the white horse-hair scraped off 
upon the stump, and he turned his back upon these 
signs and strode along the road toward his own 
home. 

Smoke was just curling from the Atterson chim- 
ney; Sister, or Mrs. Atterson, was just building the 
fire. But they did not see Hiram as he went by. 

Hiram’s quest led him past the place and to the 
Dickerson farm. There nobody was yet astir, save 
the mules and horses in the barnyard, who called as 
he went by, hoping for their breakfast. 

Hiram knew that the Dickersons had turkeys and, 
like most of the other farmers, cooped them in dis- 
237 


238 Hiram the Young Farmer 

tant fields away from the house. He found three 
coops in the middle of an old oat-field under a 
spreading beech. 

The old turks roosted upon the limbs of the beech 
at night; they were already up and away, hunting 
grasshoppers for breakfast. But quite a few poults 
were running and peeping about the coops, with two 
hen turkeys playing guard to them. 

Hiram saw where a wagon had been driven in 
here, and turned, too. The tracks were made re- 
cently. And one of the coops was shut tight, al- 
though he knew by the rustling within that there 
were young turkeys in it. 

It was too dark within the hutch, however, for the 
youth to number the poults confined there. 

He strolled back across the fields to the rear of 
the Dickerson house. Passing the barnyard first, 
he halted and examined the bright bay horse, with 
white feet — the one that Pete had driven to the bar- 
becue the day before — the only one Pete was ever 
allowed to drive off the farm. 

The Dickersons, father and son, were not as early 
risers as most farmers in those parts. At least, they 
were not up betimes on this morning. 

But Mrs. Dickerson had built the fire now and 
was stirring about the porch when Hiram arrived at 
the step, filling her kettle at the pump. 

“ Mornin’, Mr. Strong,” she said, in her startled 
way, eyeing Hiram askance. 


Run to Earth 


239 

She was a lean, sharp- featured woman, with a 
hopeless droop to her shoulders. 

“ Good-morning, Mrs, Dickerson,’’ said Hiram, 
gravely. ‘‘ How many young turkeys have you this 
year? ” 

The woman shrank back and almost dropped the 
kettle she had filled to the pump-bench. Her eyes 
glared. 

Somewhere in the house a baby squalled; then 
a door banged and Hiram heard Dickerson’s heavy 
step descending the stair. 

You have a coop of poults down there, Mrs. 
Dickerson,” continued Hiram, confidently,” that I 
know belongs to us. I traced Pete’s tracks with the 
wagon and the white- footed horse. Now, this is 

going to make trouble for Pete ” 

What’s the matter with Pete, now? ” demanded 
Dickerson’s harsh voice, and he came out upon the 
porch. 

He scowled at sight of Hiram, and continued: 

‘‘ What are you roaming around here for. Strong? 
Can’t you keep on your own side of the fence? ” 

“ It’s little I’ll ever trouble you, Mr. Dickerson,” 
said Hiram, sharply, ‘‘ if you and yours don’t 
trouble me, I can assure you.” 

“What’s eating you now?” demanded the man, 
roughly. 

“ Why, ril tell you, Mr. Dickerson,” said Hiram, 
quickly. “ Somebody’s stolen our turkeys — ten of 


240 Hiram the Young Farmer 

them. And I have found them down there where 
your turkeys roost. The natural inference is that 
somebody here knows about it ” 

Dickerson — just out of his bed and as ugly as 
many people are when they first get up — leaped for 
the young farmer from the porch, and had him in 
his grip before Hiram could help himself. 

The woman screamed. There was a racket in 
the house, for some of the children had been watch- 
ing from the window. 

Dad’s goin’ to lick him ! ” squalled one of the 
girls. 

You come here and intermate that any of my 
family’s thieves, do you? ” the angry man roared. 

‘‘ Stop that, Sam Dickerson! ” cried his wife. 

She suddenly gained courage and ran to the strug- 
gling pair, and tried to haul Sam away from Hiram. 

‘‘ The boy’s right,” she gasped. I heard Pete 
tellin’ little Sam last night what he’d done. It’s 
come to a pretty pass, so it has, if you are goin’ to 
uphold that bad boy in thieving ” 

‘‘Hush up. Maw!” cried Pete’s voice from the 
house. 

“ Come out here, you scalawag ! ” ordered his 
father, relaxing his hold on Hiram. 

Pete slouched out on the porch, wearing a grin 
that was half sheepish, half worried. 

“What’s this Strong says about turkeys?” de- 
manded Sam Dickerson, sternly. 


Run to Earth 


241 

‘‘ ’Tain’t so!” declared Pete. ‘‘I ain’t seen no 
turkeys.” 

“ I have found them,” said Hiram, quietly. 
“ And the coopful is down yonder in yojiir lot. You 
thought to fool me by turning into our farm from 
the direction of Scoville, and driving back that way; 
but you turned around in the road under that over- 
hanging oak, where I picked Lettie Bronson off the 
back of the runaway horse last Spring. 

Now, those ten turkeys belong to Sister. She’ll 
be heart-broken if anything happens to them. You 
have played me several mean tricks since I have 
been here, Pete Dickerson ” 

''No, I ain’t!” interrupted the boy. 

" Who took the burr off the end of my axle and 
let me down in the road that night?” demanded 
Hiram, his rage rising. 

Pete could not forbear a grin at this remem- 
brance. 

" And who tampered with our pump the next 
morning? And who watched and waited till we left 
the lower meadow that night we burned the rub- 
bish, and then set fire to our woods ” 

Mrs. Dickerson screamed again. " I knew that 
fire never come by accident,” she moaned. 

" You shut up. Maw ! ” admonished her hopeful 
son again. 

" And now I’ve got you,” declared Hiram, with 
confidence. " I can tell those ten poults. I marked 


242 Hiram the Young Farmer 

them for Sister long ago so that, if they went to the 
neighbors, they could be easily identified. 

“ They’re in that shut-up coop down yonder,” 
continued Hiram, ‘‘and unless you agree to bring 
them back at once, and put them in our coop, I shall 
hitch up and go to town, first thing, and get out a 
warrant for your arrest.” 

Sam had remained silent for a minute, or two. 
Now he said, decidedly: 

“ You needn’t threaten no more, young feller. I 
can see plain enough that Pete’s been carrying his 
fun too far ” 

“ Fun! ” ejaculated Hiram. 

“ That’s what I said,” growled Sam. “ He’ll 
bring the turkeys back — and before he has his break- 
fast, too.” ' 

“ All right,” said Hiram, knowing full well that 
there was nothing to be made by quarreling with 
Sam Dickerson. “ His returning the turkeys, how- 
ever, will not keep me from speaking to the consta- 
ble the very next time Pete plays any of his tricks 
around our place. 

“ It may be ‘ fun ’ for him; but it won’t look so 
funny from the inside of the town jail.” 

He walked off after this threat. And he was 
sorry he had said it. For he had no real intention 
of having Pete arrested, and an empty threat is of 
no use to anybody. 

The turkeys came back ; Sister did not even know 


Run to Earth 


243 

that they had been stolen, for when she went down 
to feed them about the middle of the forenoon, all 
ten came running to her call. 

But Pete Dickerson ceased from troubling for a 
time, much to Hiram’s satisfaction. 

Meanwhile the crops were coming on finely. 
Hiram’s tomatoes were bringing good prices in 
Scoville, and as he had such a quantity and was so 
much earlier than the other farmers around about, 
he did, as he told Henry he would do, skim the 
cream off the market.” 

He bought some crates and baskets in town, too, 
and shipped some of the tomatoes to a produce man 
he knew in Crawberry — a man whom he could trust 
to treat him fairly. During the season that man’s 
checks to Mrs. Atterson amounted to fifty-four 
dollars. 

Three times a week the spring wagon went to 
town with vegetables for the school, the hotels, and 
their retail customers. The whole family worked 
long hours, and worked hard; but nobody com- 
plained. 

No rain fell of any consequence until the latter 
part of July; and then there was no danger of the 
river overflowing and drowning out the corn. 

And that corn ! By the last of July it was waist 
high, growing rank and strong, and of that black- 
green color which delights the farmer’s eye. 

Mr. Bronson walked down to the river especially 


244 Hiram the Young Farmer 

to see it. Like Hiram’s upland corn, there was 
scarcely a hill missing, save where the muskrats had 
dug in from the river bank and disturbed the corn 
hills. 

That’s the finest-looking corn in this county, bar 
none, Hiram,” declared Bronson. “ I have seldom 
seen better looking in the rich bottom-lands of the 
West. And you certainly do keep it clean, boy.” 

“ No use in putting in a crop if you don’t ’tend 
it,” said the young farmer, sententiously. 

And what’s this along here ? ” asked the gentle- 
man, pointing to a row or two of small stuff along 
the inner edge of the field. 

‘‘ I’m trying onions and celery down here. I want 
to put a commercial crop into this field next year — 
if we are let stay here — that will pay Mrs. Atterson 
and me a real profit,” and Hiram laughed. 

‘‘ What do you call a real profit? ” inquired Mr. 
Bronson, seriously. 

“ Four hundred dollars an acre, net,” said the 
young farmer, promptly. 

“Why, Hiram, you can’t do that!” cried the 
gentleman. 

“ It’s being done — in other localities and on soil 
not so rich as this — and I believe I can do it.” 

“With onions or celery?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Which — or both ?•” asked the Westerner, inter- 
ested. 


Run to Earth 


245 


“ I am trying them out here, as you see. I be- 
lieve it will be celery. This soil is naturally wet, and 
celery is a glutton for water. Then, it is a late 
piece, and celery should be transplanted twice be- 
fore it is put in the field, I believe.” 

“ A lot of work, boy,” said Mr. Bronson, shaking 
his head. 

Well, I never expect to get something for noth- 
ing,” remarked Hiram. 

“ And how about the onions ? ” 

“ Why, they don’t seem to do so well. There is 
something lacking in the land to make them do their 
best. I believe it is too cold. And, then, I am 
watching the onion market, and I am afraid that too 
many people have gone into the game in certain sec- 
tions, and are bound to create an over-supply.” 

The gentleman looked at him curiously. 

“ You certainly are an able-minded youngster, 
Hiram,” he observed. “ I s’pose if you do so well 
here next year as you expect, a charge of dynamite 
wouldn’t blast you away from the Atterson farm? ” 
Why, Mr. Bronson,” responded the young 
farmer, I don’t want to run a one-horse farm all 
my life. And this never can be much more. It isn’t 
near enough to any big city to be a real truck 
farm — and I’m interested in bigger things. 

“ No, sir. The Atterson Eighty is only a stepping 
stone for me. I hope I’ll go higher before long.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


HARVEST 

But Hiram was not at all sure that he would 
ever see a celery crop in this bottom-land. Pepper 
still “ hung fire and he would not go to Mr. Strick- 
land with his option. 

I dQi^’t hafter,’^ he told Hiram. ‘‘ When I git 
ready Pll let ye know, be sure o’ that.” 

The fact was that the railroad had made no fur- 
ther move. Mr. Strickland admitted to Mrs. Atter- 
son that if the strip along the east boundary of the 
farm was condemned by the railroad, she ought to 
get a thousand dollars for it. 

“ But if the railroad board should change its mind 
again,” added the lawyer, ‘‘ sixteen hundred dollars 
would not be a speculative price to pay for your 
farm — and well Pepper knows it.” 

“ Then Mr. Damocles’s sword has got to hang 
over us, has it? ” demanded the old lady. 

I am afraid so,” admitted the lawyer, smiling. 

Mrs. Atterson could not be more troubled than 
was Hiram himself. Youth feels the sting of such 
246 


Harvest 


247 


arrows of fortune more keenly than does age. We 
get case-hardened ” to trouble as the years bend 
our shoulders. 

The thought that he might, after all, get nothing 
but a hundred dollars and his board for all the work 
he had done in preparation for the second yearns 
crop sometimes embittered Hiram’s thoughts. 

Once, when he spoke to Pepper, and the snaky 
man sneered at him and laughed, the young farmer 
came near attacking him then and there in the 
street. 

I certainly could have given that Pepper as good 
a thrashing as ever he got,” muttered Hiram. 

And even Pete Dickerson never deserved one 
more than Pepper.” 

Pete fought shy of Hiram these days, and as the 
summer waned the young farmer gradually became 
less watchful and expectant of trouble from the di- 
rection of the west boundary of the Atterson Eighty. 

But there was little breathing spell for him in the 
work of the farm. 

When we lay by the corn, you bet dad an’ me 
goes fishing! ” Henry Pollock told Hiram, one day. 

But it wasn’t often that the young farmer could 
take half a day off for any such pleasure. 

You’ve bit off more’n you kin chaw,” observed 
Henry. 

“ That’s all right; I’ll keep chewing at it, just the 
same,” returned Hiram cheerfully. 


248 Hiram the Young Farmer 

For the truck crop was bringing them, in a bigger 
sum of money than even Hiram had expected. The 
season had been very favorable, indeed; Hiram’s 
vegetables had come along in good time, and even 
the barrels of sweet corn he shipped to Crawberry 
brought a fair price — much better than he could 
have got at the local cannery. 

When the tomato pack came on, however, he 
did sell many baskets of his seconds ” to the can- 
nery. But the selected tomatoes he continued to 
ship to Crawberry, and having established a repu- 
tation with his produce man for handsome and 
evenly ripened fruit, the prices received were good 
all through the season. 

He saw the sum for tomatoes pass the hundred 
and fifty dollar mark before frost struck the vines. 
Even then he was not satisfied. There was a small 
cellar under the Atterson house, and when the 
frosty nights of October came, Hiram dragged up 
the vines still bearing fruit, by the roots, and hung 
them in the cellar, where the tomatoes continued to 
ripen slowly nearly up to Thanksgiving. 

Other crops did almost as well in proportion. He 
had put in no late potatoes; but in September he 
harvested the balance of his early crop and, as they 
were a good keeping variety, he knew there would 
be enough to keep the family supplied until the next 
season. 

Of other roots, including a patch of well-grown 


Harvest 


249 


mangels for Mrs. Atterson’s handsome flock of 
chickens, there were plenty to carry the family over 
the winter. 

As the frosts became harder Hiram dug his root 
pits in the high, light soil of the garden, drew pine- 
tags to cover them, and, gradually, as the winter ad- 
vanced, heaped the earth over the various piles of 
roots to keep them through the winter. 

Meanwhile, in September, corn harvest had come 
on. The four acres Hiram had planted below the 
stables yielded a fair crop, that part of the land he 
had been able to enrich with coarse manure showing 
a much better average than the remainder. 

The four acres yielded them something over one 
hundred and sixty baskets of sound corn which, as 
corn was then selling for fifty cents per bushel, 
meant that the crop was worth about forty dollars. 

As near as Hiram could figure it had cost about 
fifteen dollars to raise the crop ; therefore the profit 
to Mrs. Atterson was some twenty-five dollars. 

Besides the profit from some of the garden crops, 
this was very small indeed; as Hiram said, it did 
not pay well enough to plant small patches of corn 
for them to fool with it much. 

‘‘ The only way to make a good profit out of corn 
on a place like this,’’ he said to Henry, who would 
not be convinced, “ is to have a big drove of hogs 
and turn them into the field to fatten on the standing 


corn. 


250 Hiram the Young Farmer 

But that would be wasteful ! ” cried Henry, 
shocked at the suggestion. 

Big pork producers do not find it so,” returned 
Hiram, confidently. Or else one wants a drove of 
cattle to fatten, and cuts the corn green and shreds 
it, blowing it into a silo. 

The idea is to get the cost of the corn crop back 
through the price paid by the butcher for your stock, 
or hogs.” 

“ Nobody ever did that around here,” declared 
young Pollock. 

‘‘ And that’s why nobody gets ahead very fast 
around here. Henry, why don’t you strike out and 
do something new — just to surprise ’em? 

‘‘ Stop selling a little tad of this, and a little tad 
of that off the farm and stick to the good farmer’s 
rule : ‘ Never sell anything off the place that can’t 
walk off.’ ” 

I’ve heard that before,” said Henry, sighing. 

‘‘ And even then just so much fertility goes with 
every yoke of steers or pair of fat hogs. But it is 
less loss, in proportion, than when the corn, or oats, 
or wheat itself is sold.” 


CHAPTER XXIK 


LETTiE Bronson’s corn husking 

Sister had begun school on the very first day it 
opened — in September. She was delighted, for al- 
though she had had lessons ” at the '' institution ”, 
they had not been like this regular attendance, with 
other free and happy children, at a good country 
school. 

Sister was growing not alone in body, but in 
mind. And the improvement in her appearance was 
something marvelous. 

It certainly does astonish me, every time I 
think o’ that young’ un and the way she looked when 
she come to me from the charity school,” declared 
Mother Atterson. 

Who’d want a better lookin’ young’un now ? 
She’d be the pride of any mother’s heart, she’d be. 

'‘If there’s folks belongin’ to her, and they have 
neglected her all these years, in my opinion they’re 
lackin’ in sense, Hiram.” 

“ They certainly have been lacking in the milk of 
human kindness,” admitted the young farmer. 

‘‘ Huh ! That milk’s easily soured in many folks/’ 
351 


2^2 Hiram the Young Farmer 

responded Mrs. Atterson. ‘‘ But Sister’s folks, who- 
ever they be, will be sorry some day.” 

“ You don’t suppose she really has any family, do 
you? ” demanded Hiram. 

No father nor mother, I expect. But many a 
family wilbget rid of a young’un too small to be of 
any use, when they probably have many children of 
their own. 

“ And if there was a little bait of money coming 
to the child, as that lawyer told the institution 
matron, that would be another reason for losing her 
in this great world.” 

“ I’m afraid Sister will never find her folks, Mrs. 
Atterson,” said Hiram, shaking his head. 

“ Huh ! If she don’t, it’s no loss to her. It’s loss 
to them,'' declared the old lady. “ And I’d hate to 
have anybody come and take her away from us 
now.” 

Sister no longer wore her short hair in four “ pig- 
tails ”. She had learned to dress it neatly like other 
girls of her age, and although it would never be like 
the beautiful blue-black tresses of Lettie Bronson, 
Hiram had to admit that the soft brown of Sister’s 
hair, waving so prettily over her forehead, made the 
girl’s features more than a little attractive. 

She was an entirely different person, too, from 
the one who had helped Lettie and her friends 
ashore from the grounded motor-boat that day, so 
long ago — and so Lettie herself thought when she 


Lettie Bronson’s Corn Husking 253 

rode into the Atterson yard one October day on her 
bay horse, and Sister met her on the porch. 

“ Why, you’re Mrs. Atterson’s girl, aren’t you? ” 
cried Lettie, leaning from her saddle to offer her 
hand to Sister. “ I wouldn’t have known you.” 

Sister was getting plump, she had roses in her 
cheeks, and she wore a neat, whole, and becoming 
dress. 

You’re Miss Bronson,” said Sister, gravely. 
“ I wouldn’t forget you.” 

Perhaps there was something in what Sister said 
that stung Lettie Bronson’s memory. She flushed a 
little; but then she smiled most charmingly and 
asked for Hiram. 

Husking corn. Miss, with Henry Pollock, down 
on the bottom-land.” 

“Oh! way down there? Well! you tell him — 
Why, ril want you to come, too,” laughed Lettie, 
quite at her best now. 

Nobody could fail to answer Lettie Bronson’s 
smile with its reflection, when she chose to exert 
herself in that direction. 

“ Why, I just came to tell you both that on Friday 
we’re going to have an old-fashioned husking-bee 
for all the young folks of the neighborhood, at our 
place. You must come yourself — er — Sister, and 
tell Hiram to come, too. 

“Seven o’clock, sharp, remember— and Pll be 
dreadfully disappointed if you don’t come,” added 


254^ Hiram the Young Farmer 

Lettie, turning her horse’s head homeward, and 
saying it with so much cordiality that her hearer’s 
heart warmed. 

“ She is pretty,” mused Sister, watching the bay 
horse and its rider flying along the road. I don’t 
blame Hiram for thinking she’s the very finest girl 
in these parts. 

'' She is” declared Sister, emphatically, and shook 
herself. 

Hiram had finished husking the lowland corn 
that day, with Henry’s help, and it was all drawn in 
at night. When the last measured basket was heaped 
in the crib by lantern light, the young farmer 
added up the figures chalked up on the lintel of the 
door. 

“ For goodness’ sake, Hiram ! it isn’t as much 
as that, is it?” gasped Henry, viewing the figures 
the young farmer wrote proudly in his memoran- 
dum book. 

‘‘ Six acres — six hundred and eighty baskets of 
sound corn,” crowed Hiram. “ And it’s corn that 
is corn, as Mr. Bronson says. 

It’s not quite as hard as the upland corn, for 
the growing season was not quite long enough for 
it ; but it’s better than the average in the 
county ” 

'' Three hundred and forty bushel of shelled corn 
from six acres ? ” cried Henry. I should say it 
was! It’s worth fifty cents now right at the crib— 


Lettie Bronson’s Corn Husking 255 

a hundred and seventy dollars. Hiram ! that’ll 
make dad let me go to the agricultural college.” 

‘‘What?” cried Hiram, surprised and pleased. 
“ Have you really got that idea in your head? ” 

“ I been gnawin’ on it ever since you talked so 
last spring,” admitted his friend, rather shyly. “ I 
told father, and at first he pooh-poohed. 

“ But I kept on pointing out to him how much 

more you knowed than we did ” 

Thafs nonsense, Henry,” interrupted Hiram. 
“ Only about some things. I wouldn’t want to set 
myself up over the farmers of this neighborhood as 
knowing so much.” 

“ Well, you’ve proved it. Dad says so himself. 
He was taken all aback when I showed him how you 
had beat him on the tomato crop. And I been 
talking to him about your corn. 

“ That hit father where he lived,” chuckled 
Henry, “ for father’s a corn-growing man — and al- 
ways has been considered so in this county. 

“ He watched the way you tilled your crop, and 
he believed so much shallow cultivating was wrong, 
and said so. But he says you beat him on poor 
ground; and when I tell him what that lowland 
figures up, he’ll throw up his hands. 

“ And I’m going to take a course in fertilizers, 
farm management, and the chemistry of soils,” con- 
tinued Henry. 

“ Just as you say, I believe we have been planting 


256 Hiram the Young Farmer 

the wrong crops on the right land! Anyway, Fll 
find out. I believe we’ve got a good farm, but we’re 
not getting out of it what we should.” 

'' Well, Henry,” admitted Hiram, slowly, “ noth- 
ing’s pleased me so much since I came into this 
neighborhood, as to hear you say this. You get all 
you can at the experiment station this winter, and I 
believe that your father will soon begin to believe 
that there is something in ‘ book farming ’, after 
all.” 

If it had not been for the hair-hung sword over 
them, Mrs. Atterson and Hiram would have taken 
great delight in the generous crops that had been 
vouchsafed to them. 

“ Still, we can’t complain,” said the old lady, 
“ and for the first time for more’n twenty years I’m 
going to be really thankful at Thanksgiving time.” 

“Oh, I believe you!” cried Sister, who heard 
her. “ No boarders.” 

“ Nope,” said the old lady, quietly. “ You’re 
wrong. For we’re going to haz^e boarders on 
Thanksgiving Day. I’ve writ to Crawberry. Any- 
body that’s in the old house now that wants to come 
to eat dinner with us, can come. I’m going to cook 
the best dinner I ever cooked — and make a milkpail 
full of gravy. 

“ I know,” said the good old soul, shaking her 
head, “ that them two old maids I sold out to have 
half starved them boys. We ought to be able to 


Lettie Bronson’s Corn Husking 257 

stand even Fred Crackit, and Mr. Peebles, one day 
in the year.” 

“ Well! ” returned Sister, thoughtfully. “ If you 
can stand ’em / can. I never did think I could for- 
give ’em all — so mean they was to me — and the 
hair-pulling and all. 

“ But I guess you’re right. Mis’ Atterson. It’s 
heapin’ coals of fire on their heads, like what the 
minister at the chapel says.” 

“ Good Land o’ Goshen, child ! ” exclaimed the 
old lady, briskly. “ Hot coals would scotch ’em, 
and I only want to fill their stomachs for once.” 

The husking at the Bronsons was a very well at- 
tended feast, indeed. There was a great barn floor, 
and on this were heaped the ear-corn in the husks — 
not too much, for Lettie proposed having the floor 
cleared and swept for square dancing, and later for 
the supper. 

She had a lot of her school friends at the husking, 
and at first the neighborhood boys and girls were 
bashful in the company of the city girls. 

But after they got to work husking the corn, and 
a few red ears had been found ( for which each girl 
or boy had to pay a forfeit) they became a very 
hilarious company indeed. 

Now, Lettie, broadly hospitable, had invited the 
young folk far and wide. Even those whom she 
had not personally seen, were expected to attend. 

So it was not surprising that Pete Dickerson 


258 Hiram the Young Farmer 

should come, despite the fact that Mr. Bronson had 
once discharged him from his employ — and for 
serious cause. 

But Pete was not a thin-skinned person. Where 
there was anything ‘‘ doing ” he wanted to cut a 
figure. And his desire to be important, and be 
marked by the company, began to make him ob- 
jectionable before the evening was half over. 

For instance, he thought it was funny to take a 
run down the long barn floor and leap over the heads 
of those buskers squatting about a heap of corn, 
and land with his heavy boots on the apex of the 
pile, thus scattering the ears in all directions. 

He got long straws, too, and tickled the backs 
of the girls’ necks; or he dumped handfuls of bran 
down their backs, or shook oats into their hair — 
and the oats stuck. 

Mr. Bronson could not see to everything; and 
Pete was very sly at his tricks. A girl would shriek 
in one corner, and the lout would quickly transport 
himself to a distant spot. 

When the corn was swept aside, and the floor 
cleared for the dance, Pete went beyond the limit, 
however. He had found a pail of soft-soap in the 
shed and while the crowd was out of the barn, play- 
ing a “ round game ” in the yard while it was being 
swept, Pete slunk in with the soap and a swab, and 
managed to spread a good deal of the slippery stuff 
around on the boards. 


Lettie Bronson’s Corn Husking 259 

A broom would not remove this soft-soap. When 
the hostler swept, he only spread it. And when the 
dancing began many a couple measured their length 
on the planks, to Pete’s great delight. 

But the hired man had observed Pete sneaking 
about while he was removing the last of the corn, 
and Hiram Strong discovered soft-soap on Pete’s 
clothes, and the smell of it strong upon his un- 
washed hands. 

“ You get out of here,” Mr. Bronson told the boy. 
‘‘ I had occasion to put you off my land once, and 
don’t let me have to do it a third time,” and he 
shoved him with no gentle hand through the door 
and down the driveway. 

But Pete laid it all to Hiram. He called back 
over his shoulder : 

“I’ll be square with you, yet. Hi Strong! You 
wait 1 ” 

But Hiram had been threatened so often from 
that quarter by now, that he was not much inter- 
ested. 


CHAPTER XXX 


ONE SNOWY MIDNIGHT 

The fun went on after that with more moder- 
ation, and everybody had a pleasant time. That is, 
so supposed Hiram Strong until, in going out of the 
barn again to get a breath of cool air after one of 
the dances, he almost stumbled over a figure hiding 
in a corner, and crying. 

“ Why, Sister! ” he cried, taking the girl by the 
shoulders, and turning her about. “ What’s the 
matter? ” 

“ Oh, I want to go home. Hi. This isn’t any 
place for me. Let me — me run — run home!” she 
sobbed. 

“ I guess not ! Who’s bothered you ? Has that 
Pete Dickerson come back? ” 

“ No — o ! ” sobbed Sister. 

“What is it, then?” 

“ They — they don’t want me here. They don’t 
like me.” 

“ Who don’t? ” demanded Hiram, sternly. 

“ Those — those girls from St. Beris. I — I tried 
to dance, and I slipped on some of that horrid soap 
and — and fell down. And they said I was clumsy. 
And one said : 


260 


One Snowy Midnight 261 

Oh, all these country girls are like that. I 
don’t see what Let wanted them here for.’ 

So’t we could all show off better,’ said an- 
other, laughing some more. 

“And I guess that’s right enough,” finished Sis- 
ter. “ They don’t want me here. Only to make fun 
of. And I wish I hadn’t come.” 

Hiram was smitten dumb for a moment He 
had danced once with Lettie, but the other town 
girls had given him no opportunity to do so. And 
it was plain that Lettie’s school friends preferred 
the few boys who had come up from town to any of 
the farmers’ sons who had come to the husking. 

“ I guess you’re right. Sister. They don’t want 
us — much,” admitted Hiram, slowly. 

“ Then let’s both go home,” said Sister, sadly. 

“ No. That wouldn’t be serving Mr. Bronson — 
or Lettie — right. We were invited in good faith, 
I reckon, and the Bronsons haven’t done anything to 
offend us. 

“ But you and I’ll go back there and dance to- 
gether. You dance with me — or with Henry; and 
I’ll stick to the country girls. If Lettie Bronson’s 
friends from boarding school think they are so much 
better than us folks out here in the country, let us 
show them that we can have a good time without 
them.” 

“ Oh, I’ll go back with you, Hiram,” cried Sister, 
gladly, and the young fellow was a bit conscience- 


262 Hiram the Young Farmer 

stricken as he noted her changed tone and saw the 
sparkle that came into her eye. 

Had he neglected Sister because Lettie Bronson 
was about? Well! perhaps he had. But he made 
up for it with the attention he paid to Sister during 
the remainder of the evening. 

They went home early, however, and Hiram felt 
somewhat grave after the corn husking. Had 
Lettie Bronson invited the country-bred young folk 
living about her father’s home, to meet her boarding 
school friends, and the town boys, merely that the 
latter might be compared with the farmer-folk to 
their disfavor? 

He could not believe that — really. Lettie Bronson 
might be thoughtless, and a little proud; but she 
was still a princess to Hiram, and he could not 
think this evil of her. 

But there were too many duties every day for the 
young farmer to give much thought to such 
problems. Harvesting was not complete yet, and 
soon flurries of snow began to drive across the fields 
and threaten the approach of winter. 

Finally the wind came out of the northwest for 
more than a day, and toward evening the flakes 
began to fall, faster and faster, thicker and thicker. 

“ It’s going to be a snowy night — a real baby 
blizzard,” declared Hiram, stamping his feet on the 
porch before coming into the warm kitchen with 
the milkpail. 


One Snowy Midnight 263, 

'' Oh, dear ! And I thought you’d go over to 
Pollock’s with me to-night, Hi,” said Sister. 
“ Mabel an’ I are goin’ to make our Christmas 
presents together, and she’s expecting me.” 

Shucks! ’Twon’t be fit for a girl to go out if 
it snows,” said Mother Atterson. 

But Hiram saw that Sister was much disap- 
pointed, and he had tried to be kinder to her since 
that night of the corn husking. 

What’s a little snow? ” he demanded, laughing. 
“ Bundle up good, Sister, and I’ll go over with 
you. I want to see Henry, anyway.” 

‘‘ Crazy young’uns,” observed Mother Atterson. 
But she made no real objection. Whatever Hiram 
said was right, in the old lady’s eyes. 

They tramped through the snowy fields with a 
lantern, and found it half-knee deep in some drifts 
before they arrived at the Pollocks, short as had 
been the duration of the fall. 

But they were welcomed vociferously at the 
neighbor’s ; preparations were made for a long even- 
ing’s fun ; for with the snow coming down so steadily 
there would be little work done out of doors the 
following day, so the family need not seek their beds 
early. 

The Pollock children had made a good store of 
nuts, like the squirrels; and there was plenty of corn 
to pop, and molasses for candy, or corn-balls, and 
red apples to roast, and sweet cider from the casks 
in the cellar. 


264 Hiram the Young Farmer 

The older girls retired to a corner of the wide 
hearth with their work-boxes, and Hiram and Henry 
worked out several problems regarding the latter’s 
eleven-week course at the agricultural college, which 
would begin the following week; while the young 
ones played games until they fell fast asleep in odd 
corners of the big kitchen. 

It was nearly midnight, indeed, when Hiram and 
Sister started home. And it was still snowing, and 
snowing heavily. 

“ We’ll have to get all the plows out to-morrow 
morning!” Henry shouted after them from the 
porch. 

And it was no easy matter to wade home through 
the heavy drifts. 

I never could have done it without you, Hi,” 
declared the girl, when she finally floundered onto 
the Atterson porch, panting and laughing. 

I’ll take a look around the barns before I come 
in,” remarked the careful young farmer. 

This was a duty he never neglected, no matter 
how late he went to bed, nor how tired he was. 
Half way to the barn he halted. A light was waving 
wildly by the Dickerson back door. 

It was a lantern, and Hiram knew that it was 
being whirled around and around somebody’s head. 
He thought he heard, too, a shouting through the 
falling snow. 

“ Something’s wrong over yonder,” thought the 
young farmer. 


One Snowy Midnight 265 

He hesitated but for a moment. He had never 
stepped upon the Dickerson place, nor spoken to 
Sam Dickerson since the trouble about the turkeys. 

The lantern continued to swing. Eagerly as the 
snow came down, it could not blind Hiram to the 
waving light. 

‘‘ I’ve got to see about this,” he muttered, and 
started as fast as he could go through the drifts, 
across the fields. 

Soon he heard the voice shouting. It was Sam 
Dickerson. And he evidently had been shouting to 
Hiram, seeing his lantern in the distance. 

Help, Strong! Help! ” he called. 

“What is it, man?” demanded Hiram, climbing 
the last pair of bars and struggling through the 
drifts in the dooryard. 

“ Will you take my horse and go for the doctor? 
I don’t know where Pete is — down to Gale Schell’s, 
I expect.” 

“ What’s the matter, Mr. Dickerson? ” 

“ Sarah’s fell down the back stairs — fell back- 
ward. Struck her head an’ ain’t spoke since. Will 
you go, Mr. Strong ? ” 

“ Certainly. Which horse will I take? ” 

“ The bay’s saddled — under the shed — get any 
doctor — I don’t care which one. But get him here.” 

“ I will, Mr. Dickerson. Leave it to me,” prom- 
ised Hiram, and ran to the shed at once. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


‘‘ MR. Damocles’s sword ” 

Hiram Strong was not likely to forget that long 
and arduous night. It was impossible to force the 
horse out of a walk, for the drifts were in some 
places to the creature’s girth. 

He stopped at the house for a minute and roused 
Mrs. Atterson and Old Lem and sent them over to 
help the unhappy Dickersons. 

He was nearly an hour getting to the crossroads 
store. There were lights and revelry there. Some 
of the lingering crowd were snowbound for the 
night and were making merry with hard cider and 
provisions which Schell was not loath to sell them. 

Pete was one of the number, and Hiram sent him 
home with the news of his mother’s serious hurt. 

He forced the horse to take him into town to Dr. 
Broderick. It was nearly two o’clock when he 
routed out the doctor, and it was four o’clock when 
the physician and himself, in a heavy sleigh and 
behind a pair of mules, reached the Dickerson farm- 
house. 

The woman had not returned to consciousness, 
and Mrs. Atterson remained through the day to do 
266 


Mr. Damocle’s Sword ” 267 

what she could. But it was many a tedious week 
before Mrs. Dickenson was on her feet again, and 
able to move about. 

Meanwhile, more than one kindly act had Mother 
Atterson done for the neighbors who had seemed so 
careless of her rights. Pete never appeared when 
either Mrs. Atterson or Sister came to the house; 
but in his sour, gloomy way, Sam Dickerson seemed 
to be grateful. 

Hiram kept away, as there was nothing he could 
do to help them. And he saw when Pete chanced 
to pass him, that the youth felt no more kindly 
toward him than he had before. 

Well, let him be as ugly as he wants to be — 
only let him keep away from the place and let our 
things alone,” thought Hiram. “ Goodness knows ! 
I'm not anxious to be counted among Pete Dicker- 
son's particular friends.'' 

Thanksgiving came on apace, and every one of the 
old boarders of Mother Atterson had written that 
he would come to the farm to spend the holiday. 
Even Mr. Peebles acknowledged the invitation with 
thanks, but adding that he hoped Sister would not 
forget he must eschew any viands at all greasy, 
and that his hot water was to be at loi, exactly.” 

‘‘ The poor ninny! ” ejaculated Mother Atterson. 

He doesn't know what he wants. Sister only 
poured it out of the teakettle, and he had to wait for 
it to cool, anyway, before he could drink it.” 


268 Hiram the Young Farmer 

But it was determined to give the city folk a good 
time, and this determination was accomplished. 
Two of Sister’s turkeys, bought and paid for in 
hard cash by Mother Atterson, graced the long 
table in the sitting-room. 

Many of the good things with which the table was 
laden came from the farm. And, ^vithout Hiram 
and Sister, and Old Lem Camp, Mrs. Atterson 
made even Fred Crackit understand, these good 
things had not been possible! 

But the Crawberry folk, as a whole, were much 
subdued. They had missed Mother Atterson dread- 
fully; and, really, they had felt some affection for 
their old landlady, after all. 

After dinner Fred Crackit, in a speech that was 
designed to be humorous, presented a massive silver 
plated water-pitcher with Mother Atterson ” en- 
graved upon it. And really, the old lady broke 
down at that. 

“ Good Land o’ Goshen ! ” she exclaimed. 

Why, you boys do think something of the old 
woman, after all, don’t ye? 

I must say that I got ye out here more than 
anything to show ye what we could do in the coun- 
try. ’Specially how it had improved Sister. And 
how Hiram Strong warn’t the ninny you seemed to 
think he was. And that Mr. Camp only needed a 
chance to he something in the world again. 

“ Well, well! It wasn’t a generous feeling I had 



...i 'A; ■■ 




Hiram Strong was not likely to forget that long 
and arduous night. 









Mr. Damocle’s Sword ” 269 

toward you, mebbe; but Fm glad you come, and — 
and — I hope you all had enough gravy.” 

So the occasion proved a very pleasant one indeed. 
And it made a happy break in the hard work of 
preparing for the winter. 

The crops were all gathered ere this, and they 
could make up their books for the season just passed. 

But there was wood to get in, for all along they 
had not had wood enough, and to try and get wood 
out of the snowy forest in winter for immediate use 
in the stoves was a task that Hiram did not enjoy. 

He had Henry to help him saw a goodly pile 
before the first snow fell; and Mr. Camp split most 
of it and he and Sister piled it in the shed. 

WeVe got to haul up enough logs by March — 
or earlier — to have a wood sawing in earnest,” 
announced Hiram. “ We must get a gasoline engine 
and saw, and call on the neighbors for help, and 
have a sawing-bee.” 

'' But what will be the use of that if weVe got to 
leave here in February? ” demanded Mrs. Atterson, 
worriedly. “ The last time I saw that Pepper in 
town he grinned at me in a way that made me want 
to break my old umbrel’ over his' dratted head! ” 

‘‘ I don’t care,” said Hiram, sullenly. “ I don’t 
want to sit idle all winter. I’ll cut the logs, anyway, 
and draw ’em out from time to time. If we have to 
leave, why, we have to, that’s all.” 

‘‘ And we can’t tell a thing to do about next year 


270 Hiram the Young Farmer 

till we know what Pepper is going to do/' groaned 
Mrs. Atterson. 

That is very true. But if he doesn’t exercise 
his option before February tenth, we needn’t worry 
any more. And after that will be time enough to 
make our plans for next season’s crops,” declared 
Hiram, trying to speak more cheerfully. 

But Mrs. Atterson went around with clouded 
brow again, and was heard to whisper, more than 
once, something about “ Mr. Damocles’s sword.” 


CHAPTER XXXII 


THE CLOUD IS LIFTED 

Despite Hiram Strong’s warning to his employer 
when they started work on the old Atterson Eighty, 
that she must expect no profit for this season’s 
work, the Christmas-tide, when they settled their 
accounts for the year, proved the young fellow to 
have been a bad prophet. 

‘‘ Why, Hiram, after I pay you this hundred 
dollars, I shall have a little money left — I shall 
indeed. And all that corn in the crib — and stacks 
of fodder, beside the barn loft full, and the roots, 

and the chickens, and the pork, and the calf 

Why, Hiram ! I’m a richer woman to-day than 
when I came out here to the farm, that’s sure. How 
do you account for it? ” 

Hiram had to admit that they had been favored 
beyond his expectations. 

“ If that Pepper man would only come for’ard 
and say what he was going to do ! ” sighed Mother 
Atterson. 

That was the continual complaint now. As the 
winter advanced all four of the family bore the 
271 


272 Hiram the Young Farmer 

option in mind continually. There was talk of the 
railroad going before the Legislature to ask for 
the condemnation of the property it needed, in the 
spring. 

It seemed pretty well settled that the survey along 
the edge of the Atterson Eighty would be the route 
selected. And, if that was the case, why did Pepper 
not try to exercise his option? 

Mr. Strickland had said that there was no way 
by which the real estate man’s hand could be forced ; 
so they had to abide Pepper’s pleasure. 

“If we only knew we’d stay,” said Hiram, “ I’d 
cut a few well grown pine trees, while I am cutting 
the firewood, have them dragged to the mill, and 
saw the boards we shall need if we go into the 
celery business this coming season.” 

“What do you want boards for?” demanded 
Henry, who chanced to be home over Christmas, 
and was at the house. 

“ For bleaching. Saves time, room, and trouble. 
Banking celery, even with a plow, is not alone 
old-fashioned, and cumbersome, but is apt to leave 
the blanched celery much dirtier.” 

“ But you’ll need an awful lot of board for six 
acres, Hiram!” gasped Henry. 

“ I don’t know. I shall run the trenches four 
feet apart, and you mustn’t suppose, Henry, that 
I shall blanch all six acres at once. The boards can 
be used over and over again.” 


The Cloud is Lifted 


273 


I didn’t think of that,” admitted his friend. 

Henry was eagerly interested in his selected 
studies at the experiment station and college, and 
Abel Pollock followed his son’s work there with 
growing approval, too. 

“ It does beat all,” he admitted to Hiram, what 
that boy has learned already about practical things. 
Book-farming ain’t all flapdoodle, that’s sure!” 

So the year ended — quietly, peacefully, and with 
no little happiness in the Atterson farmhouse, de- 
spite the cloud that overshadowed the farm-title, 
and the doubts which faced them about the next 
season’s work. 

They sat up on New Year’s eve to see the old 
year out and the new in, and had a merry evening 
although there were only the family. When the 
distant whistles blew at midnight they went out upon 
the back porch to listen. 

It was a dark night, for thick clouds shrouded 
the stars. Only the unbroken coverlet of snow (it 
had fallen that morning) aided them to see about 
the empty fields. 

In the far distance was the twinkle of a single 
light — that in an upper chamber of the Pollock 
house. Dickersons’ was mantled in shadow, and 
those two houses were the only ones in sight of the 
Atterson place. 

And I was afraid when we came out here that 
I’d be dead of loneliness in a month — with no near 


274 Hiram the Young Farmer 

neighbors,” admitted Mother Atterson. ‘‘ But Fve 
been so busy that I ain’t never minded it 

“What’s that light, Hiram?” 

Her cry was echoed by Sister. Behind the barn 
a sudden glow was spreading against the low-hung 
clouds. It was too far away for one of their out- 
buildings to be afire ; but Hiram set off immediately, 
although he only had slippers on, for the corner of 
the barnyard fence. 

When he reached this point he saw that one of the 
fodder stacks in the corn-field was afire. The whole 
top of the stack was ablaze. 

“ Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! ” cried Sister, who had 
followed him. “ What can we do ? ” 

“ Nothing,” said Hiram. “ There’s no wind, 
and it won’t spread to another stack. But that 
one is past redemption, for sure ! ” 

Hiram hastened back to the house and put on 
his boots. But he did not wade through the snow 
to the fodder stack that was burning so briskly. He 
merely made a detour around it, at some yards 
distant. Nowhere did he see the mark of a foot- 
print. 

How the stack had been set afire was a mystery. 

Hiram had stacked the fodder himself, with the 
help of Sister, who had pitched the bundles up to 
him. The young farmer did not smoke, and he 
seldom carried matches loose in his pockets. 

Therefore, the idea that he had dropped a match 


The Cloud is Lifted 275 

in the fodder and a field mouse, burrowing for 
some nubbin of corn, had come across the match, 
nibbled the head, and so set the blaze, was scarcely 
feasible. 

Yet, how else had the fire started? 

When daylight came Hiram could find no foot- 
print near the stack — only his own where he had 
circled it while it was blazing. 

It was the stack nearest to the Dickerson line. 
Hiram, naturally, thought of Pete. 

Since Mrs. Dickerson’s sickness. Mother Atterson 
had been back and forth to help her neighbor, and 
whenever Sam Dickerson saw Hiram he was as 
friendly as it was in the nature of the man to be. 

Hiram could not believe that Pete’s father would 
now countenance any of his son’s meannesses; yet 
when the young farmer went along the line fence, 
he saw fresh tracks across the Dickerson fields, 
and discovered where the person had stood, on the 
Dickerson side of the fence opposite the burned 
fodder stack. 

But these footprints were all of three hundred 
feet from the stack, and there was not a mark in 
the snow upon Hiram’s side of the fence, saving 
his own footprints. 

“ Maybe somebody merely ran across to look at 
the blaze. But it’s strange I did not see him,” 
thought Hiram. 

He could not help being suspicious, however, and 


276 Hiram the Young Farmer 

he prowled about the stacks and the barns more than 
ever at night. He could not shake off the feeling 
that the enemy in the dark was at work again. 

January passed, and the fatal day — the tenth of 
February — drew nearer and nearer. If Pepper pro- 
posed to exercise his option he must do it on or 
before that date. 

Neither Hiram nor Mrs. Atterson had seen the 
real estate man of late ; but they had seen Mr. Strick- 
land, and on the final day they drove to town to 
meet Pepper — if the man was going to show up — 
in the lawyer’s office. 

“ I wouldn’t trouble him, if I were you,” advised 
the lawyer. “ But if you insist. I’ll send over for 
him.” 

“ I want to know what he means by all this,” 
declared Mrs. Atterson, angrily. “ He’s kept me 
on tenter-hooks for ten months, and there ought 
to be some punishment for the crime.” 

'' I am afraid he has been within his rights,” 
said the lawyer, smiling; but he sent his clerk for 
the real estate man, probably being very well con- 
vinced of the outcome of the affair. 

In came the snaky Mr. Pepper. The moment 
he saw Mrs Atterson and Hiram he began to cackle. 

‘‘Ye don’t mean to say you come clean in here 
this stormy day to try and sell that farm to me? ” 
asked the real estate man. “ No, ma’am! Not for 
no sixteen hundred dollars. If you’ll take 
twelve ” 


The Cloud is Lifted 


277 

Mrs. Atterson could not find words to reply to 
him; and Hiram felt like seizing the scoundrel by 
the scruff of his neck and throwing him down to 
the street. But it was Mr. Strickland who inter- 
posed : 

“ So you do not propose to exercise' your option? ” 

“ No, indeed-y ! ” 

How long since did you give up the idea of 
purchasing the Atterson place?” asked the lawyer, 
curiously. 

“ Pshaw ! I gave up the idee ’way back there 
last spring,” chuckled Pepper, 

“ You haven’t the paper with you, have you, 
Mr. Pepper ? ” asked Mr. Strickland, quietly. 

The real estate man looked wondrous sly and 
tapped the side of his nose with a lean finger. 

“ Why, I tore up that old paper long ago. It 
warn’t no good to m^,” said Pepper. “ I wouldn’t 
take the farm at that price for a gift,” and he de- 
parted with a sneering smile upon his lips. 

“ And well he did destroy it,” declared Mr. 
Strickland. It was a forgery — that is what it was. 
And if we could have once got Pepper in court 
with it, he would not have turned another scaly 
trick for some years to come.” 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


‘ CELERY MAD 

The relief to the minds of Hiram Strong and 
Mrs. Atterson was tremendous. 

Especially was the young farmer inspired to 
greater effort. He saw the second growing season 
before him. And he saw, too, that now, indeed, he 
had that chance to prove his efficiency which he had 
desired all the time. 

The past year had cost him little for clothing or 
other expenses. He had banked the hundred dol- 
lars Mrs. Atterson had paid him at Christmas. 

But he looked forward to something much bigger 
than the other hundred when the next Christmas- 
tide should come. Twenty-five per cent of all the 
profit of the Atterson Eighty during this second 
year was to be his own. 

The moment ‘‘ Mr. Damocles’s sword ”, as 
Mother Atterson had called it, was lifted the young 
farmer jumped into the work. 

He had already cut enough wood to last the 
family a year; now he got Mr. Pollock, with his 
team of mules, to haul it up to the house, and then 
278 


Celery Mad ” 


279 


sent for the power saw, asked the neighbors to help, 
and in less than half a day every stick was cut to 
stove length. 

As he had time Hiram split this wood and Lem 
Camp piled it in the shed. Hiram knocked to- 
gether some extra cold-frames, too, and bought 
some second-hand sash. 

And he had already dug a pit for a twelve-foot 
hotbed. Now, a twelve-foot hotbed will start an 
enormous number of plants. 

Hiram did not plan to have quite so much small 
stuff in the garden this year, however. He knew 
that he should have less time to work in the garden. 

He proposed having more potatoes, about as many 
tomatoes as the year before, but fewer roots to 
bunch, salads and the like. He must give the bulk 
of his time to the big commercial crop that he 
hoped to put into the bottom-land. 

He had little fear of the river overflowing its 
banks late enough in the season to interfere with the 
celery crop. For the seedlings were to be handled in 
the cold-frames and garden-patch until it was time 
to set them in the trenches. And that would not be 
until July. 

He contented himself with having the logs he cut 
drawn to the sawmill and the sawed planks brought 
down to the edge of the bottom-land, and did not 
propose to put a plow into the land until late June. 

Meanwhile he started his celery seed in shallow 


280 Hiram the Young Farmer 

boxes, and when the plants were an inch and a 
half, or so, tall, he pricked them out, two inches 
apart each way into the cold-frames. 

Sister and Mr. Camp could help in this work, and 
they soon filled the cold-frames with celery plants 
destined to be reset in the garden plat later. 

This '' handling ” of celery aids its growth and 
development in a most wonderful manner. At the 
second transplanting, Hiram snipped back the tops, 
and the roots as well, so that each plant would grow 
sturdily and not be too stalky ”. 

Mrs. Atterson declared they were all celery mad. 

“ Whatever will you do with so much of the stuff, 
I haven’t the least idee, Hiram. Can you sell it allf 
Why, it looks to me as though you had set out 
enough already to glut the Crawberry market.” 

'' And I guess that’s right,” returned Hiram. 

Especially if I shipped it all at once.” 

But he was aiming higher than the Crawberry 
market. He had been in correspondence with firms 
that handled celery exclusively in some of the big 
cities, and before ever he put the plow into -the bot- 
tom-land he had arranged for the marketing of 
every stalk he could grow on his six acres. 

It was a truth that the family of transplanted 
boarding house people worked harder this second 
spring than they had the first one. But they knew 
how better, too, and the garden work did not seem 
so arduous to Sister and Old Lem Camp. 


“ Celery Mad ” 


281 


Mrs. Atterson had a fine flock of hens, and they 
had laid well after the first of December, and the 
eggs had brought good prices. She planned to in- 
crease her flock, build larger yards, and in time 
make a business of poultry raising, as that would 
be something that she and Sister could practically 
handle alone. 

Sister’s turkeys had thrived so the year before 
that she had saved two hens and a handsome gob- 
bler, and determined to breed turkeys for the fall 
market. 

And Sister learned a few things before she had 
raised “ that raft of poults,” as Mother Atterson 
called them. Turkeys are certainly calculated to 
breed patience — especially if one expects to have a 
flock of young Toms and hens fit for killing at 
Thanksgiving-time. 

She hatched the turkeys under motherly hens be- 
longing to Mother Atterson, striving to breed poults 
that would not trail so far from the house; but as 
soon as the youngsters began to feel their wings 
they had their foster-mothers pretty well worn out. 
One flock tolled the old hen off at least a mile from 
the house and Hiram had some work enticing the 
poults back again. 

There was no raid made upon her turkey coops 
this year, however. Pete Dickerson was not much 
in evidence during the spring and early summer. 
Mrs. Atterson went back and forth to the neigh- 


282 Hiram the Young Farmer 

bors ; but although whenever Hiram saw the farmer 
the latter put forth an effort to be pleasant to him, 
the two households did not well “ mix 

Besides, during this busiest time of the year, when 
the crops were getting started, there seemed to be 
little opportunity for social intercourse. At least, 
so it seemed on the Atterson place. 

They were a busy and well contented crew, and 
everything seemed to be running like clockwork, 
when suddenly ‘‘ another dish of trouble ”, as 
Mother Atterson called it, was served them in a 
most unexpected manner. 

Hiram was coming up from the barn one even- 
ing, long after dark, and had just caught sight of 
Sister standing on the porch waiting for him, when 
a sudden glow against the dark sky, made him turn. 

The flash of fire passed on the instant, and Sister 
called to him: 

‘‘ Oh, Hiram ! did you see that shooting-star ? ” 

‘‘ You never wished on it. Sis,” said the young 
farmer. 

“ Oh, yes I did ! ” she returned, dancing down the 
steps to meet him. 

That quick ? ” 

Just that quick,” she reiterated, seizing his arm 
and getting into step with him. 

'‘And what was the wish?” demanded Hiram. 

" Why — I won’t ever get it if I tell you, will I ? ” 
she queried, shyly. 


“ Celery Mad ” 


283 

“ Just as likely to as not, Sister,” he said, with 
serious voice. ‘‘ Wishes are funny things, you 
know. Sometimes the very best ones never come 
true.” 

“ And Fm afraid mine will never come true,” she 
sighed. “Oh, dear! I guess no amount of wish- 
ing will ever bring some things to pass.” 

“ Maybe that’s so. Sis,” he said, chuckling. “ I 
fancy that getting out and hustling for the thing 
you want is the best way to fulfill wishes.” 

“ Oh, but I can’t do that in this case,” said the 
girl, shaking her head, and still speaking very seri- 
ously as they came to the porch steps. 

“ Maybe I can bring it about for you,” teased 
Hiram. 

“ I guess not,” she said. “ I want so to be like 
other girls, Hiram! I’d like to be like that pretty 
Lettie Bronson. I’m not jealous of her looks and 
her clothes and her good times and all; no, that’s 
not it,” proclaimed Sister, with a little break in her 
voice. 

“ But I’d like to know who I really he. I want 
folks, and — and I want to have a real name of my 
own ! ” 

“ Why, bless you ! ” exclaimed the young fellow, 
“ ‘ Sister ’ is a nice name. I’m sure — and we all 
love it here.” 

“ But it isn’t a name. They call me Sissy Atter- 
son at school. But it doesn’t belong to me. I — I’ve 


284 Hiram the Young Farmer 

thought lots about choosing a name for myself — a 
real fancy one, you know. There’s lots of pretty 
names,” she said, reflectively. 

‘‘ Cords of ’em,” Hiram agreed. 

‘‘ But, you see, they wouldn’t really be mine,” 
said the girl, earnestly. Not even after I had 
chosen them. I want my very own name! I want 
to know who I am and all about myself. And ” — 
with a half strangled sob — “ I guess wishing will 
never bring me that, will it, Hiram? ” 

Never before had the young fellow heard Sister 
express herself upon this topic. He had no idea 
that the girl felt her unknown and practically un- 
named existence so strongly. 

“ I wouldn’t care, Sis,” he said, patting her bent 
shoulders. We love you here just as well as we 
would if you had ten names ! Don’t forget that. 

“ And maybe it won’t be all a mystery some day. 
Your folks may look you up. They may come here 
and find you. And they’ll be mighty proud of 
you — you’ve grown so tall and good looking. Of 
course they will ! ” 

Sister listened to him and gave a little contented 
sigh. And then they might want to take me 
away — and I’d fight, tooth and nail, if they tried it.” 

“What?” gasped Hiram. 

“Of course I would ! ” said the girl. “ Do you 
suppose I’d give up Mother Atterson for a dozen 
families — or for clothes — and houses — or, or any- 


Celery Mad ” 285 

thing? and she ran into the house leaving the 
young farmer in some amazement. 

‘‘ Ain’t that the girl of it? ” he muttered, at last. 

Yet I bet she is in earnest about wanting to know 
about her folks.” 

And from that time Hiram thought more about 
Sister’s problem himself than he had before. Once, 
when he went to Crawberry, he went to the chari- 
table institution from which Mother Atterson had 
taken Sister. But the matron had heard nothing 
of the lawyer who had once come to talk over the 
child’s affairs, and the path of inquiry seemed shut 
off right there by an impassable barrier. 

However, this is ahead of our story. On this 
particular night Hiram washed at the pump, and 
then followed Sister in to supper. 

Before they were half through Mr. Camp sud- 
denly started from his chair and pointed through 
the window. 

Flames were rising behind the barn again ! 

Another stack burning ! ” exclaimed Hiram, 
and he shot out of the door, seizing a pail of water, 
hoping that he might put it out. 

But the stack was doomed. He knew it the mo- 
ment he saw the extent of the blaze. 

He kept away from it, as he had before; yet he 
did not expect to pick up any trail of the incendiary 
near the stack. 

‘‘ Twice in the same place is too much ! ” declared 


286 Hiram the Young Farmer 

the young farmer, glowing with jvrath. “ I’m going 
to have this mystery explained, or know the reason 
why.” 

He left Mr. Camp to watch the burning fodder, 
to see that sparks from the stack did no harm, and 
lighting his lantern he went along the line fence 
again. 

Yes! there were the footprints that he had ex- 
pected to find. But the burning stack was even far- 
ther from the fence than the first one had been — 
and there were no marks of feet in the soft earth on 
Mrs. Atterson’s side of the boundary. 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


CLEANING UP A PROFIT 

Hiram crawled through the wires, and followed 
the plain foot-marks back to the Dickerson sheds. 
He lost them there, of course, but he knew by the 
size of the footprints that either Sam Dickerson or 
his oldest son had been over to the line fence. 

“And that shooting-star!” considered Hiram. 
“ There was something peculiar about that. I won- 
der if there wasn’t a shooting star, also, away back 
there at New Year’s wheji our other stack of fodder 
was burned?” 

He loitered about the sheds for a few moments. 
It appeared as though all the Dickersons were in- 
doors. Nobody interfered with him. 

Of a sudden Hiram began to sniff an odor that 
seemed strange about a cart-shed. At least, no wise 
farmer would have naphtha, or gasoline, in his out- 
buildings, for it would make his insurance invalid. 

But that was the smell Hiram discovered. And 
he was not long in finding the cause of it. 

Back in a dark corner, upon a beam, lay a big 
287 


288 Hiram the Young Farmer 

sling-shot — one of those that boys swing around 
their heads with a stone in the heel of it, and then 
let go one end to shoot the missile to a distance. 

The leather loop was saturated with the gasoline, 
and it had been scorched, too. The smell of burn- 
ing, as well as the smell of gasoline, was very dis- 
tinct. 

Hiram took the sling-shot with him, and went up 
to the Dickerson house. 

He had got along so well with the Dickersons for 
these past months that he honestly shrank from 
starting anything ” now. Yet he could not over- 
look this flagrant piece of malicious mischief. In- 
deed, it was more than that. Two stacks had al- 
ready been burned, and it might be some of the 
outbuildings — or even Mrs. Atterson’s house — next 
time! 

Besides, Hiram felt himself responsible for his 
employer’s property. The old lady could not 
afford to lose the fodder, and Hiram was deter- 
mined that both of the burned stacks should be 
paid for in full. 

He looked through the window of the Dickerson 
kitchen. The family was around the supper 
table — Mr. and Mrs. Dickerson, Pete, and the chil- 
dren, little and big. It was a cheerful family group, 
after all. Rough and uncouth as the farmer was, 
Dickerson likely had his feelings like other people. 
Instead of bursting right in at the door as had 


Cleaning up a Profit 289 

been Hiram’s intention, and accusing Pete to his 
face, the indignant young fellow hesitated. 

He hadn’t any sympathy for Pete, not the slight- 
est. If he gave him — or the elder Dickerson — a 
chance to clear up matters by making good to Mrs. 
Atterson for what she had lost, Hiram Strong de- 
cided that he was being very lenient indeed. 

He stepped quietly onto the porch and rapped on 
the door. Then he backed off and waited for some 
response from within. 

Hullo, Mr. Strong!” exclaimed the farmer, 
coming himself to the door. Why! is that your 
stack burning? ” 

‘‘ Yes, sir,” said Hiram, quietly. 

“ Another one ! ” 

That is the second,” admitted Hiram. But I 
don’t propose that another shall be set afire in just 
the same way.” 

Sam Dickerson stepped suddenly down to the 
young farmer’s level, and asked : 

‘‘ What do you mean by that ? Do you know how 
it got afire? ” 

Hiram held out the sling-shot in the light of his 
lantern. 

A rag, saturated with gasoline, was wrapped 
around a pebble, then set afire, and stone and blazing 
rag were shot from our line fence into the fodder- 
stack. 

‘‘ I found the footprints of the incendiary on New 


290 Hiram the Young Farmer 

Year’s morning at the same place. And J’ll wager 
a good deal that your son Pete’s boots will fit the 
footprints over there at the line now ! ” 

Sam Dickerson’s face had turned exceedingly red, 
and then paled. But he spoke very quietly. 

What are you going to do with him, Mr. 
Strong? ” he asked. It will be five years for him 
at least, if you take it to court — and maybe longer.” 

I don’t believe, Mr. Dickerson, that you have 
upheld Pete in all the mean tricks he has played on 
me.” 

“ Indeed I haven’t ! And since I got a look at 

myself — ^back there when the wife was hurt ” 

Sam Dickerson’s voice broke and he turned away 
for a moment so that his visitor should not see his 
face. 

Well ! ” he continued. “ You’ve got Pete right 
this time — no doubt of that. I dunno what makes 
him such a mean whelp. I’ll lambaste him good for 

this, now I tell you. But the stacks ” 

“ Make him pay for them out of his own money. 
Mrs. Atterson ought not to lose the stacks,” said 
Hiram, slowly. 

“Oh, he’ll do that, anyway, you can bet!” ex- 
claimed Dickerson, with conviction. 

“ I don’t believe that sending a boy like him to 
jail will either improve his morals, or do anybody 
else any good,” observed Hiram, reflectively. 


Cleaning up a Profit 291 

And it’ll jest about finish his mother,” spoke 
Sam. 

“ That’s right, too,” said the young farmer. ‘‘ I 
tell you. I don’t want to see him — not just now. 
But you do what you think is best about this matter, 
and make Peter pay the bill — ten dollars for the two 
stacks of fodder.” 

“ He shall do it, Mr. Strong,” declared Sam Dick- 
erson, warmly. And he shall beg your pardon, 
too, or I’ll larrup him until he can’t stand. He’s 
too big for a lickin’, but he ain’t too big for me to 
lick!” 

And the elder Dickerson was as good as his word. 
An hour later yells from the cart shed denoted that 
Pete was finally getting what he should have re- 
ceived when he was a younger boy. 

Before noon Sam marched the youth over to Mrs. 
Atterson. Pete was very puffy about the eyes, and 
his cheeks were streaked with tears. Nor did he 
seem to care to more than sit upon the extreme edge 
of a chair. 

But he paid Mrs. Atterson ten dollars, and then, 
nudged by his father, turned to Hiram and begged 
the young farmer’s pardon. 

That’s all right, etc.,” said Hiram, laying his 
hand upon the boy’s shoulder. ‘'Just because we 
haven’t got on well together heretofore, needn’t 
make any difference between us after this. 

“ Come over and see me. If you have time this 


292 Hiram the Young Farmer 

summer and want the work, I’ll be glad to hire you 
to help handle my celery crop. 

Neighbors ought to be neighborly; and it won’t 
do either of us any good to hug to ourselves any in- 
jury which we fancy the other has done. We’ll be 
friends if you say so, Peter — though I tell you right 
now that if you turn another mean trick against me. 
I’ll take the law into my own hands and give you 
worse than you’ve got already.” 

Pete looked sheepish enough, and shook hands. 
He knew very well that Hiram could do as he prom- 
ised. 

But from that time on the young farmer had no 
further trouble with him. 

Meanwhile Hiram’s crops on the Atterson Eighty 
grew almost as well this second season as they had 
the first. There was a bad drouth this year, and 
the upland corn did not do so well ; yet the young 
farmer’s corn crop compared well with the crops 
in the neighborhood. 

He had put in but eight acres of corn this year; 
but they had plenty of old corn in the crib when it 
came time to take down this second season’s crop. 

It was upon the celery that Hiram bent all his 
energies. He had to pay out considerable for help, 
but that was no more than he expected. Celery 
takes a deal of handling. 

When the long, hot, dry days came, when the up- 
lands parched and the earth fairly seemed to radi- 


Cleaning up ^ Profit 293 

ate the heat, the acres of tender plants which Hiram 
and his helpers had just set out in the trenches 
began to wilt most discouragingly. 

Henry Pollock, who did all he could to aid 
Hiram on the crop, shook his head in despair. 

‘‘ It’s a-layin’ down on you, Hiram — it’s a-layin’ 
down on you. Another day like this and your cel- 
ery crop will be pretty small pertaters ! ” 

“ And that would be a transformation worthy of 
the attention of all the agricultural schools, Henry,” 
returned the young farmer, grimly laughing. 

“ You got a heart — to laugh at your own loss,” 
said Henry. 

“ There isn’t any loss — yet,” declared Hiram. 

But there’s bound to be,” said his friend, a 
regular ‘‘ Job’s comforter ” for the nonce. 

Look here, Henry ; you’d have me give up too 
easy. ‘ Never say die ! ’ That’s the farmer’s 
motto.” 

Jinks!” exclaimed young Pollock, “they’re 
dying all around us just the same — and their crops, 
too. We ain’t going to have half a corn crop if 
this spell of dry weather keeps on. And the papers 
don’t give us a sign of hope.” 

“ When there doesn’t seem to be a sign of hope 
is when the really up-to-date farmer begins to actu- 
ally work,'' chuckled Hiram. 

“ And just tell me what you’re going to do for 
this field of wilted celery?” demanded Henry. 


294 Hiram the Young Farmer 

“ Come on up to the house and I’ll get Mother 
Atterson to give us an early supper,” quoth Hiram. 

I’m going to town and I invite you to go with 
me. 

Henry had got used by this time to Hiram’s little 
mysteries. But this seemed to him a case where 
man had done all that could be done for the crop, 
and without Providential interposition, the whole 
field would have to go to pot ”, as he expressed it. 

And in his heart the young farmer knew that the 
outlook for a paying crop of celery right then was 
very small indeed. He had done his best in pre- 
paring the soil, in enriching it, in raising the sets 
and transplanting them — up to this point he had 
brought his big commercial crop, at considerable 
expense. If the drouth really got ” it, he would 
have, at the most, but a poor and stunted crop to 
ship in the Fall. 

But Hiram Strong was not the fellow to throw 
up his hands and own himself beaten at such a time 
as this. Here was an obstacle that must be over- 
come. The harder the problem looked the more de- 
termined he was to solve it. 

The two boys drove to town that evening and 
Hiram sought out a man who contracted to move 
houses, clean cisterns and wells, and various work 
of that kind. He knew this man had just the thing 
he needed, and after a conference with him, Hiram 
loaded some bulky paraphernalia into the light 


Cleaning up a Profit 295 

wagon — it was so dark Henry could not see what 
it was — and they dove home again. 

I’d like to know what the Jim Hickey you’re 
about, Hiram,” sniffed Henry, in disgust. “ What’s 
all this litter back here in the wagon? ” 

“ You come over and give me a hand in the morn- 
ing — early now, say by sun-up — and you’ll find out. 
I want a couple of husky chaps like you,” chuckled 
Hiram. I’ll get Pete Dickerson to work against 
me.” 

'Hf you do, you tell Pete he’ll have to work 
lively,” said Henry, with a grin. I don’t know 
what it is you want us to do, but I reckon I can 
keep my end up with Pete, from hoein’ ’taters to 
cuttin’ cord-wood.” 

You can keep your end up with him, can you ? ” 
chuckled Hiram. Well ! I bet you can’t in this 
game I’m going to put you two fellows up against.” 

What ! Pete Dickerson beat me at anything — 
unless it’s sleeping?” grunted Henry, with vast 
disgust. I’ll keep my end up with him at any- 
thing.” 

And the more assured he was of this the more 
Hiram was amused. ‘‘ Come on over early, 
Henry,” said the young farmer, and I’ll show you 
that there’s at least one thing in which you can’t 
keep your end up with Pete.” 

His friend was almost angry when he started off 
across the fields for home; but he was mighty curi- 


296 Hiram the Young Farmer 

ous, too. That curiosity, if nothing more, would 
have brought him to the Atterson house in good 
season the following morning. 

Already, however, Hiram and Pete — with the 
light wagon — ^had gone down to the riverside. 
Henry hurried after them and reached the celery 
field just as the red face of the sun appeared. 

There had been little dew during the night and 
the tender transplants had scarcely lifted their 
heads. Indeed, the last acre set out the day before 
were flat. 

On the bank of the river, and near that suffering 
acre, were Hiram and Pete Dickerson. Henry hur- 
ried to them, wondering at the thing he saw upon 
the bank. 

Hiram was already laying out between the celery 
rows a long hosepipe. This was attached to a good- 
sized force-pump, the feedpipe of which was in the 
river. It was a two-man pump and was worked by 
an up-and-down brake.” 

Catch hold here, Henry,” laughed Hiram. 
‘‘ One of you on each side now, and pump for all 
you’re worth. And see if I’m not right, my boy. 
You can’t keep your end up with Pete at this job; 
for if you do, the water won’t flow ! ” 

Henry admitted that he had been badly sold by 
the joke;' but he was enthusiastic in his praise of 
Hiram’s ingenuity, too. 

“ Aw, say ! ” said the young farmer, “ what do 


Cleaning up a Profit 297 

you suppose the Good Lord gave us brains for? 
Just so as to keep our fingers out of the fire? No, 
sir! With all this perfectly good and wet water 
running past my field, could I have the heart to let 
this celery die? I guess not! 

He had a fine spray nozzle on the pipe and the 
pipe itself was long enough so that, by moving the 
pump occasionally, he could water every square foot 
of the big piece. And the three young fellows, by 
changing about, went over the field every other day 
in about four hours without difficulty. 

By and by the celery plants got rooted well ; they 
no longer drooped in the morning; before the 
drouth was past the young farmer had as hand- 
some a field of celery as one would wish. Indeed, 
when he began to ship the crop, even his earliest 
crates were rated A-i by the produce men, and he 
had no difficulty in selling the entire crop at the top 
of the market, right through the season. 

The garden paid a profit; the potatoes did even 
better than the year before, and Hiram harvested 
and sold seventy-five dollars’ worth while the price 
for new potatoes was high. 

He shipped most of his tomatoes this year, for 
he could not pay attention to the local market as he 
had the first season; but the tomato crop was a 
good one. 

They raised to eight weeks and sold, during the 
year, five pair of shoats, and Mrs. Atterson bought 


298 Hiram the Young Farmer 

a grade cow with her calf by her side, for a hun- 
dred dollars, and made ten pounds of butter a week 
right through the season. 

Old Lem Camp, looking ten years younger than 
when he came to the farm, muscular and brown, 
did all the work about the barns now, milked the 
cows, and relieved Hiram of all the chores. 

Indeed, with some little help about the plowing 
and cultivating, Hiram knew very well that Mrs. 
Atterson and Old Lem could run the farm another 
year without his help. 

Of course, the old lady could not expect to put 
in any crop that would pay her like the celery; for 
when they footed up their books, the bottom-land 
had yielded, as Hiram had once prophesied to Mr. 
Bronson, over four hundred dollars the acre, net. 

Twenty-four hundred dollars income from six 
acres; and the profit was more than fifty per cent. 
Indeed, Hiram’s share of the profit amounted to 
three hundred and seventy dollars. 

With his hundred dollar wage, and the money he 
had saved the previous season, when the crops were 
harvested this second season, the young farmer’s 
bank book showed a balance of over five hundred 
dollars to his credit. 

I’m eighteen years old and over,” soliloquized 
the young farmer. And I’ve got a capital of five 
hundred dollars. Can’t I turn that capital some way 
so as to give me a bigger — a broader — chance ? 


Cleaning up a Profit 299 

“ Thus far Tve been a one-horse farmer; I want 
to be something better than that. Now, there’s no 
use in my hanging around here, waiting for some- 
thing to turn up. I must get a move on me, and 
turn something up for myself.” 


CHAPTER XXXV 


LOOKING AHEAD 

During this year Hiram had not seen much of 
Mr. Bronson, or Lettie. They had gone back to the 
West over the summer vacation, and when Lettie 
had returned for her last year at St. Beris, her 
father had not come on until near Thanksgiving. 

Hiram had spoken with Lettie several times dur- 
ing the fall, and he thought that she had vastly im- 
proved in one way, at least. 

She could not be any prettier, it seemed to him; 
but her manner was more cordial, and she always 
asked after Sister and Mrs. Atterson, and showed 
that her interest in him was not a mere surface in- 
terest. 

One day, when Hiram had been shipping some of 
the last of his celery, Lettie met him on the street 
near the Scoville railroad station. Hiram was in 
his high boots, and overalls; and Lettie was with 
two of her girl friends. 

But the girl stopped him and shook hands, and 
told him that her father had arrived and wanted to 
see him. 


300 



But the girl stopped him and shook hands 




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Looking Ahead 301 

‘‘We want you to come to dinner Saturday even- 
ing, Hiram. Father insists, and I shall be very 
much disappointed if you do not come.” 

“ Why, that’s very kind of you. Miss Lettie,” re- 
sponded the young farmer, slowly, trying to find 
some good reason for refusing the invitation. He 
was determined to be patronized. 

“ Now, Hiram ! This is very important. We 
want you to meet somebody,” said Lettie, her eyes 
dancing. “ Somebody very particular. Now ! do 
say you’ll come like a good boy, and not keep me 
teasing.” 

“ Well, I’ll come. Miss Lettie,” he finally agreed, 
and she gave him a most charming smile. 

Lettie’s two friends had waited for her, very 
much amused. 

“ I declare, Let ! ” cried one of them — and her 
voice reached Hiram’s ears quite plainly. “ You do 
have the queerest friends. Why did you stop to 
speak to that yokel ? ” 

“ Hush! he’ll hear you,” said Miss Bronson; yet 
she smiled, too. “ So you think Hiram is a yokel, 
do you ? ” 

‘ Hiram I ’ ” repeated her friend. “ Goodness 
me! I should think the name was enough. And 
those boots — and overalls ! ” 

“ Well,” said Lettie, still amused, “ I’ve seen my 
own father in just such a costume. And you know 
very well that he is a pretty good looking man, 
dressed up.” 


302 Hiram the Young Farmer 

But Let ! your father’s never a farmer,” 
gasped the other girl. 

‘^Why not?” 

‘‘ Oh, she’s just joking us,” laughed the third 
girl. Of course he’s a farmer — he owns half a 
dozen farms. But he’s the kind of a farmer who 
rides around in his automobile and looks over his 
crops.” 

Well, and this young man may do that — in 
time,” said Lettie. ‘‘ At least, my father believes 
Hi is aimed that way.” 

Nonsense ! ” 

“ He doesn’t look as though he had a cent,” said 
the third girl. 

“ He is putting away more money of his very 
own in the bank than any boy we know, who works. 
Father says so,” declared Lettie. ‘‘ He says Hi has 
done wonderfully well with his crops this year — 
and he is only raising them on shares. 

Let me tell you, girls, the farmer is coming 
into his own, these days. That is a great saying of 
father’s. He believes that the man who produces 
the food-stuffs for the rest of the world should 
have a satisfactory share of the proceeds of their 
sale. And that is coming, father says. 

Farmers don’t have to half starve, and be bur- 
dened by mortgages and ignorance, any longer. 
The country sections are waking up. With good 
schools and good roads, and the grange, and all. 


Looking Ahead 303 

many rural districts are already ahead of the cities 
in the things worth while.’" 

‘‘ Listen to Let lecture ! ” sniffed one of her 
friends. 

‘‘ All right. You wait. Maybe you’ll see that 
same young fellow — Hi Strong — come through this 
town in his own auto before you graduate from St. 
Beris.” 

‘‘Pshaw!” exclaimed the other. “If I do Pll 
ask him for a ride,” and the discussion ended in a 
laugh. 

Perhaps, however, had Hiram heard all Lettie 
hkd said he would not have been so doubtful in re- 
gard to fulfilling his promise about taking dinner 
with Mr. Bronson and his daughter on Saturday 
evening. 

To tell the truth, the more he thought of it, the 
more he shrank from the ordeal. Once he had hoped 
Mr. Bronson would be the one to show him the way 
out of the backwater of Crawberry. Hiram had 
pot forgotten how terribly disappointed he had 
been when he could not find the gentleman’s card in 
the sewer excavation. 

And later, when Mr. Bronson had suggested that 
he leave Mrs. Atterson and come to him to work, 
Hiram feared that he had missed an opportunity 
that would never be offered him again. His con- 
tract was practically over with his present employer, 
and Hiram’s ambition urged him to desire greater 
things in the farming line. 


304 Hiram the Young Farmer 

It might be in Mr. Bronson’s power to aid the 
young farmer right along this line. The gentleman 
owned farms in the Middle West that were being 
tilled on up-to-date methods, and by modern ma- 
chinery. Hiram desired very strongly to get upon 
a place of that character. He wished to learn how 
to handle tools and machinery which it would 
never pay a one-horse farmer ” to own. 

But how deeply had the gentleman been of- 
fended by Hiram’s refusal to come to work for 
him when he gave him that opportunity? That 
was a question that bit deep into the young farmer’s 
mind. 

When he went to the Bronson’s house on Satur- 
day, in good season, Mr. Bronson met him cordially 
in the library. 

“ Well, my boy, they all tell me you have done 
it ! ” exclaimed the Westerner. 

‘‘ Done what? ” queried Hiram. 

‘‘ Made the most money per acre for Mrs. Atter- 
son that this county ever saw. Is that right ? ” 

“ I’ve succeeded in what I set out to do,” said 
Hiram, modestly. 

And I did not believe myself that you could do 
it,” declared the gentleman. And it’s too bad, too, 
that I was a Doubting Thomas,” added Mr. Bron- 
son, his eyes beginning to dance a good deal like 
Lettie’s. 


Looking Ahead 305 

“ You see, Hiram, I had it in my mind when I 
took this place to get a young men from around here 
and teach him something of my ways of work, and 
finally take him back West with me. 

'' I have several farms that are paying me good 
incomes; but good farm-managers are hard to get. 
I wanted to train one — a young man. I ran against 
a promising lad before you came to the Atterson 
place; but I lost track of him. 

Had you been willing to leave Mrs. Atterson 
and come to me,” continued Mr. Bronson, I be- 
lieve I could have licked you into shape last season 
so that you would have suited me very well,” and 
he laughed outright. 

“ But now I want you to meet my future farm- 
manager. He is the very fellow I wanted before I 
offered the chance to you. I reckon you’ll be glad 
to see him ” 

While he was talking, Mr. Bronson had put his 
hand on Hiram’s shoulder, and urged him down the 
length of the room. They had come to a heavy 
portiere; Hiram thought it masked a doorway. 

Here is the fellow himself,” exclaimed Bronson, 
suddenly. 

The curtain was whisked away. Hiram heard 
Lettie giggling somewhere in the folds of it. And 
he found himself staring straight into a long mirror 
which reflected both himself and the laughing Mr. 
Bronson. 


3o 6 Hiram the Young Farmer 

“Hiram Strong!’' spoke the Westerner, admon- 
ishingly, “ why didn’t you tell me long ago that you 
were the lad who turned my horses out of the ditch 
that evening back in Crawberry ? ” 

Why— why ” 

“ His fatal modesty,” laughed Lettie, appearing 
and clapping her hands. 

“ I guess it wasn’t that,” said Hiram,, slowly. 
“What was the use? I would have been glad of 
your assistance at the time ; but when I found you I 
had already made a contract with Mrs. Atterson, 
and — what was the use ? ” 

“ Well, perhaps it would have made no difference. 
When I had dug up the fact that you were the same 
fellow whom I had looked for at Dwight’s Em- 
porium, it struck me that possibly the character that 
old scoundrel gave you had some basis in fact. 

“ So I said nothing to you after you had refused 
to break your contract. That, Hiram, was a good 
point in your favor. And what that little girl at 
your house has told Lettie about you — and the way 
Mrs. Atterson speaks of you, and all — long since 
convinced me that you were just the lad I wanted. 

“ Now, Hiram, I believe you know a good deal 
about farming that I don’t know myself. And, at 
any rate, if you can do what you have done with a 
run-down place like the Atterson Eighty, I’d like to 
see what you can do with a bigger and better farm. 

“What do you say? Will you come to me — if 
only for a year ? I’ll make it worth your while.” 


Looking Ahead 307 

And that Hiram Strong did not let this oppor- 
tunity slip past him will be shown in the next vol- 
ume of this series, entitled : “ Hiram in the Middle 
West; Or, A Young Farmer’s Upward Struggle.” 

He was sorry to leave Mrs. Atterson at Christmas 
time; but the old lady saw that it was to Hiram’s 
advantage to go. 

And good land o’ Goshen, Hiram ! I wouldn’t 
stand in no boy’s way — not a boy like you, least- 
ways. You’ve always been square with me, and 
you’ve given me a new lease of life. For I never 
would have dared to give up the boarding house 
and come to the farm if it hadn’t been for you. 

This is your home — jest as much as it is Sister’s 
home, and Old Lem Camp’s. Don’t forgit that, 
Hiram. 

‘‘ You’ll find us all here whenever you want to 
come back to it. For I’ve talked with Mr. Strick- 
land and I’m going to adopt Sister, all reg’lar, and 
she shall have what I leave when I die, only promis- 
ing to give Mr. Camp a shelter, if he should outlast 
me. 

“ Sister’s folks may never look her up, and she 
may never git that money the institution folk think 
is coming to her. But she’ll be well fixed here, 
that’s sure.” 

Indeed, taking it all around, everybody of impor- 
tance to the story seemed to be well fixed ”, as 
Mother Atterson expressed it. She herself need 


3o 8 Hiram the Young Farmer 

never be disturbed by the vagaries of boarders, or 
troubled in her mind, either waking or sleeping, 
about the gravy — save on Thanksgiving Day. 

Old Lem Camp and Sister were provided for by 
their own exertions and Mrs. Atterson’s kindness. 

The Dickersons — even Pete — had become friendly 
neighbors. Henry Pollock had waked up his father, 
and they were running the Pollock farm on much 
more modern lines than before. 

And Hiram himself was looking ahead to a 
scheme of life that suited him, and to a chance “ to 
make good ” on a much larger scale than he had 
on the Atterson Eighty where, nevertheless, he had 
made the soil pay. 


THE END. 


Back to the Soil Series 

By Burbank L. Todd 


22mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume^ net $1.00 

The idea of this series is to show boys of to-day what 
can be done on a farm. With the ever-increasing de- 
mand for food stuffs, the farmer is rapidly coming into 
his own. He is no longer a “hayseed; he is a busi- 
ness man, and one of prime importance to the commu- 
nity at large. 


Hiram the 



Farmer 


or Making the Soil Pay 


Hiram has been brought up on a farm, but had longed 
for the city and had gone there to try his luck. He made 
a failure of it, and when the opportunity came for him 
to go back to the soil, he went gladly, and showed those 
around him what could be done on a small farm that was 
badly run down. A story that has the smell of the green 
fields all through it. There is plenty of excitement, too 
— just the kind dear to every lad’s heart. 


Hiram in the Middle West 


Or A Young Farmer Upward Struggle 

From the East Hiram travels to the Middle West, 
there to take hold of farming on a somewhat larger scale. 
The new situation is by no means an easy one to handle, 
but the lad goes at it manfully, and the success which^ 
finally comes to him is well deserved. A true picture of 
farm life in the Middle West of to-day. 


SULLY AND KLEINTEICH- 


-New York 


The University Series 

By Roy Eliot Stokes 

I2mo, Cloth, Illustrated. Price per volume, net $1.00 

It is our intention in this series to gis’’e an intimate 
view of life at various American seats of learning. We 
are sure that all lads who are interested in college life 
will enjoy these volumes. 


Andy at Yale 

Or The Great Quadrangle Mystery 

Andy went to Yale an utter stranger. He knew 
nothing about the university, its customs or its tradi- 
tions. As a freshman he was hazed and knocked around 
a good bit. But he “ kept his feet,” and when the 
proper time came he showed what he could do on the base- 
ball and the football field. And, more than that — much 
more, in fact — he showed what a good friend he could 
be, when his roommate, the jolly Dunk, began to follow 
after the fast set of Yale. And then he helped to solve 
the great Quadrangle mystery — that mystery which had 
so bothered those in authority. 

Chet at Harvard 

Or A Young Freshman^ s Triumph 

At the preparatory school Chet had been Andy’s 
chum, and when Andy went to Yale, Chet took himself 
to Harvard. Adventures in plenty awaited the young 
freshman, and he, too, was hazed and knocked around. 
This volume is full of the true spirit of Harvard, with 
its many clubs, and its interesting doings on the athletic 
field. Chet had no easy time of it while a freshman, 
and his final triumph was well deserved. 


SULLY AND KLEINTEICH- - -New York 


Uncle Sam’s Service Series 

By Captain Taylor Armitage 

12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume^ net $1.00 

What wideawake American youth is not interested 
in the workings of the United States Government? 
Here we have a series of growing importance, and one 
that should be read by every lad who loves his country. 


Bob Spencer the Life Saver 

Or Guarding the Coast for Uncle Sam 

The Spencer boys were all lively, but Bob was the 
liveliest of them all, and it was finally decided to let him 
become a Life Saver. This was accomplished through 
the good offices of an uncle at Washington, and soon Bob 
found himself at one of the numerous Life Saving Sta- 
tions on our Atlantic coast. Here he found the work 
hazardous in the extreme. He was out in several furious 
storms, and aided in rescuing many persons from more 
than one wreck, and he also took a hand in capturing a 
daring smuggler. A story all boys will enjoy reading. 

Dave Spencer on Secret Service 

Or Uncle Sam*s Search for Counterfeiters 

The uncle of the Spencer boys was in the Secret 
Service at Washington. After Bob joined the Life 
Savers, his brother Dave begged the uncle for a chance 
to do something for our government. Quite unexpect- 
edly the chance came, and Dave was thrown in with the 
Secret Service men just when they were doing their best 
to round up a gang of skillful counterfeiters who were 
flooding our country with cleverly-executed bad money. 
Every boy in the land will want to know what hap- 
pened to Dave when on Secret Service. ^ 


SULLY AND KLEINTEICH - 


. New York 


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